


Dark

by Delenn (goddessdel)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Mindfuck, No Connor, Season 3 AU, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1732799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessdel/pseuds/Delenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate version up to 'Offspring', changing soon after 'Epiphany'. Angel's moved on… to Cordelia. But Darla's back on the scene in L.A, and she's come with a plan. Can Angel and Cordelia find out what it is before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story claims to be nothing other than its title - dark. It is Angel/Cordy, for the most part, and everything is going assuming where the show would have gone if Connor, Holtz, and all that hadn’t happened. However, Darla is still around, and Angel will have to deal with his actions in their past and her actions toward his future. The first chapter of this story takes place from a few months after ‘Epiphany’. The rest of the story takes place a couple months after ‘Offspring’. Please note that this story is rated mature for violent content - it does not pull its punches.
> 
> Date Started: May 21st, 2002, 6:41pm. Date Finished: September 2nd, 2013, 4:31pm.
> 
> As you can tell by the above dates, this story was started a very long time ago. It's finished now, and I went back and edited the original chapters, but you should take that as you will. Further, this is not a happy story - you've been warned by the tags (though I don't think it's as awful as all that) and the title.

## Prologue:

They all nodded in understanding when Angel told of his terrible past. Sure, it was horrible, but he had a soul now, he was GOOD. They couldn’t bear to think long on the stories, for they were really _scary_. They haven’t seen anything yet; there are some things that can only be classified as evil: DARK:


	2. Chapter I

…*…  


## ...*Chapter I*...

  
…*…

Darla stood in her hotel room and looked down at what had once been her perfectly flat stomach. She had been sure that this _thing_ wouldn’t be able to survive on her metabolism long enough to do something like this. Actually, last time she checked, she had been pretty damn sure that this was impossible.

It had been a couple weeks since she had left Los Angeles. It had taken less then a day to notice the problem: a lot longer for her to decide on a course of action.

Darla ran her finger along the intricately carved - extremely sharp - blade. This was going to kill, _literally_.

She took a deep breath that she no longer needed and plunged the six-inch blade deep into her stomach. Darla exhaled sharply and twisted the dagger once for good measure.

Satisfied that the _thing_ that had been _living_ inside of her was at least significantly wounded, Darla pulled out the knife and watched the blood flow out of her body.

She smiled as she slowly sat down on the bed, somewhat enjoying the unusual pain. This would be a long week without fresh blood for her to heal. If it had fed off of her blood for this long, who knew if fresh blood would heal it also. She would take **no** chances.

…*…

Angel could feel it, the overwhelming guilt edging just below his consciousness. Stalking his waking moments like a predator, _Great, now I have another beast in my head!_

Except, this beast was strictly imaginary.

He’d slept with Darla. The very thought incited shivers from the vampire. Angel knew he’d been reckless and careless, not even thinking about who he might hurt. He’d almost set Angelus free, and then he’d remembered: _Cordy_.

The same Cordy who had, surprisingly, really tried to be there for him. His friend - all his friends - and he could have gotten them killed.

_All I wanted was one moment of happiness, one moment of nothing._ He continued staring out the window into the rain streaked night. _Instead, I almost set loose a killer._

_And why?_ The question had plagued him for weeks; _why_ had he tried to be numb, especially with Darla? He knew what she was after all - his sire - knew how dangerous she could be. Had been, with him, and he’d risked it all over again.

Willing to allow the slaughter of innocents, so he wouldn’t have to feel any more remorse for his past.

That was the key. His past, and she had started it. Angel wanted to know why - why had she made him into that monster? What had been her motivation?

Did she want the torture of his soul to last well into the next eternity? Make him suffer through the haunting flashbacks of rape, torture, and pain?

_But you did it, it’s your past,_ and she had offered release from that guilt. No strings attached.

But now there was more, and a sickening feeling that it would come back to haunt him. She may have been defeated, but Darla was still lurking out there, and _under his skin_.

Angel had wanted to tell Cordy, but she’d been so happy - he’d caused that happiness, - and he couldn’t bear to cause her depression. He’d already hurt her, and for what? Darla?

He’d been stupid, and now the other beast loomed ever closer.

Angelus had tasted freedom that night, been so close to escaping, and the flashbacks were in full flood. Every decision second-guessed by a demon calling for blood while he tried to regain the favor of his friends.

Angel got up from the windowsill quietly and stalked back down to his room, the demon in his head calling out, _We’re not human, we don’t sleep now,_ which he ignored.

Do not pass go, do not collect redemption, go back to start.

Had it been worth it? Had that glimpse of his past, being with his maker, been worth it? _Never._

…*…

Death seems slow to most. It isn’t. The heart immediately speeds up, panic setting in as it fights against the impending doom. It’ll slow, the beats getting farther apart, but not by choice. And there will still be sporadic, wild heartbeats that only speed up the inevitable. But the human mind won’t accept defeat, and in that defeats itself. Finally, the beating will become painfully slow, breathing hard, and then it will just stop. In the time it takes to blink, an entire life can be gone.

Vampires are unnatural; Mother Nature meant for that to be the end, death to be the end, and it wasn’t. So, the body can never forget that panic; that need for blood. It’s always calling for more blood to keep it going, even though it’s unneeded, and as the mind wills it so, the blood therefore becomes needed.

Darla moaned as she watched darkness settle more prominently into her room. The sun had set, and now she would have to deal with the pain settling deep into her being. Not just the pain from her wound, but this annoying voice saying how wrong this was. It was fading though, _Finally,_ she smiled, _it’s finally dying!_

Rolling to her side, Darla listened to the many pounding heartbeats in this hotel, blood calling to her.

It was the fading of _one_ heartbeat though, that kept her still, the heartbeat of this _thing_ that had taken up residence inside of her. And it was dying.

_Hopefully a slow and painful death._

Her nocturnal urge to be awake and hunting battled with the weakness and pain she felt. The desire to sleep versus the drive to be awake, to be hunting: killing.

The pain was irritating also; Darla hadn’t been in this much pain in awhile. _But it has its rewards,_ she reminded herself. Big rewards, _Angel would pay dearly_.

A different kind of ache came to the surface, as memories of her exploits with Angelus flooded Darla’s mind.

Shaking her head as she drifted back to sleep, Darla spoke into the night, “We could have done anything together, my precious,” with stubborn resolve she sighed, “but that’s over now.”


	3. Chapter II

…*…  


## ...*Chapter II*...

  
…*…

Angel opened his eyes and looked down at the woman sleeping next to him.

So trusting; so innocent.

He could hear the demon complaining, _Not gonna loose the soul with this one_ : the demon knew it, and the soul knew it.

And yet, had the demon escaped, it would have been so easy to convince Cordelia that he was still Angel. Wrap her warm little arms around his neck and tilt hers invitingly near his mouth and… _Stop,_ he tried to command the demon in vain.

Still, she was too comfortable around him; eventually he’d have to do something about that. He couldn’t trust himself with her, couldn’t trust the tricks of the demon living inside him.

_Never can tell when true happiness will come along,_ he quietly mused.

He watched with fascination as Cordy stirred slowly, wrapping her arms around him as she murmured, “Mmm… good evening.”

Angel looked down into those piercing brown eyes and felt compelled to kiss her, hold her, as if to make up for such awful thoughts. He did just that.

When he finally let go, Cordelia sat up and smiled mischievously, “Okay, make that a great evening!”

Angel stretched out on his back and watched Cordelia stand up and wander around their room unabashed. “Did you sleep well?” Concern seeped into his voice.

Cordelia grinned as she threw open the closet doors, searching through her side of clothes. “I slept okay,” she wrinkled her nose, “I dreamed that all my clothes were gone again! It was so frustrating!”

Angel stood up slowly and walked over to his ‘girlfriend’. He was careful to make sure she could hear his footsteps; sometimes she got jumpy. He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck, “You want to go shopping?”

Cordelia spun around in Angel’s arms and tapped his chest lightly, “No, silly, Gunn, Fred, and Wesley are coming over for dinner, remember?”

Angel was abruptly reminded how much she gave up for him. _Without so much as a thought to how much it means,_ she had even changed her sleeping times to accommodate him. “Right, better get ready then.”

Cordelia slipped out of his grasp and disappeared deep into the closet, searching for the perfect outfit. “It’s so nice to have them over without having to fight demons!”

Angel spoke teasingly as he looked through his own clothing, “Don’t jinx it. Remember last time.”

Cordelia emerged triumphantly from the closet with an outfit she had deemed appropriate. “There will be no demons tonight, not even any demon related discussion. I mean it!”

Angel grinned; pulling out a light red shirt, which Cordelia had bought him for Christmas, claiming he needed to wear more color. “A nice normal dinner; got it.”

Cordelia smiled and began to dress. She had been planning this night all week; the last time they had tried this it had been a disaster, from the food to the demon that tried to kill everyone. _Tonight will go smoothly!_ she vowed to herself.

…*…

Darla spun around in front of the mirrors, feeling giddy at her lack of reflection like she hadn’t in years. Regaining some composure, _I’m four hundred, for hell's sake, and I’m acting like a fledgling!_ Darla looked down and surveyed her newest outfit. The others were all packed in a suitcase.

That made Darla laugh. Her, carrying around a suitcase full of clothes like a normal person!

The vampiress sat down on her hotel bed and considered if the shopkeeper she had bit had been on something. It was a definite possibility with the way she was acting.

_But,_ she mused, _I suppose it could be just feeling normal again! It’s been so long since I’ve felt normal!_ Between the burns and the _other thing_ she was finally feeling like herself again. Strong like she should be.

Full of shopkeeper blood, carrying a suitcase of stolen dresses, from said shopkeeper, and packing to leave. _Not like he needed them anymore._

She was kind of sad to be leaving such a rainy place. It was dreary, and from what she could tell, cold. Weather that she enjoyed, the kind of weather that reminded her of the past.

A past she was _trying_ to forget.

Growling, Darla stood up in a flash and had smashed the floor length mirror before she could even think about it. Definitely a past she was trying to forget.

_Tempting to slip into memories, isn’t it?_ a voice in her head taunted her. It was new, almost like a conscience, appearing since the hatching of her newest plan.

_Killed the conscience though, so SHUT UP!_

It was herself driving her crazy, and she knew it. _I’ll be as insane as Dru if I keep up like this,_ but that wasn’t true. Darla knew what she was doing, what she wanted, she was just anxious to have it over with.

_Yeah,_ she decided as she shut the suitcase and left the room, _that shopkeeper was definitely on something._

…*…

Fred kissed Gunn on the cheek chastely and blushed before quickly grabbing the rest of the dishes and following Cordelia into the kitchen area. She smiled, “I guess we got through the night with out any mention of you-know-what!”

Cordelia smiled, “We did! See, I knew it was possible, even with our boyfriends,” she blushed as she said this, “god, I’ll never get used to saying that!”

Fred nodded enthusiastically, carefully setting the dishes in the sink, “We have to do something about Wesley though!” she motioned to the dishes “Hey, Cordy, you want help with these?”

Cordelia rolled her eyes, “First off, I heard from a very reliable source that Wesley has a secret girlfriend!” both women squealed in delight, before getting back to the matter at hand. “C’mon, Fred, you know I don’t do dishes.”

Fred looked confused, she had thought that Cordy _did_ , “What?” she murmured quietly, embarrassed at her lack of knowledge.

Cordelia laughed, she was more patient now and waited for Fred to catch up with her when she got lost. Even if she would never admit it, Fred was growing on her. “It was a joke, Fred. You know, Cordy not being very good at home-related stuff.”

Fred nodded easily, since her relationship with Gunn she was getting used to normal life again, or as normal as it got here. “So, I’ll take that as a yes?”

Cordelia shrugged, a joking but mischievous gleam in her eyes, “I don’t know, maybe we should go watch TV, and make Gunn, Wesley, and Angel do this.”

Fred considered this for only a second; calmly stating, “I don’t think Charles is very good about dishes.”

Cordelia raised an eyebrow as she thought this over, “Good point; I don’t think Angel is either. How he survived by himself this long is kind of beyond me, you’d think the mugs would just have piled up!”

Fred and Cordelia managed to keep straight looks on their faces for a couple seconds, before laughing together, “Men!”

Cordelia shook her head in mock exasperation; it was really good to just be able to laugh about something silly, no demons waiting at the door, it felt normal. “I wish this girlfriend of Wesley’s good luck!”

Fred gave a slight shake of her head to indicate that she had heard, and then volunteered, eager to do something else that made her feel human again, even if it was as normal and boring and dishes. “I’ll wash; you dry and put away, okay?”

Cordelia nodded, as she walked around Fred, muttering something about a dishwasher. “Seriously, though, next time the guys are doing this.”


	4. Chapter III

…*…  


## ...*Chapter III*...

  
…*…

Darla stepped out of the bus and called back to the conductor, the only one left alive, “Thanks for the snack.”

It was almost sunrise, and she wasn’t even halfway to her destination.

Darla used her vampiric speed to reach a fancy hotel within a matter of seconds. She walked inside and straight to the elevators, not even earning herself a glance from the night watchman, who was engrossed in a comic book. She _loved_ hotels, the whole ‘can’t enter without invitation’ didn’t apply.

She found herself waiting by the elevators with a very well dressed middle-aged couple. Darla smiled, “You wouldn’t believe how early you have to get up to catch those pre-dawn photos!”

The woman politely, if not very warmly, inquired, “Are you a photographer?”

Darla nodded, the fake grin still plastered on her face, “Yeah, and my husband’s going to be so worried if he wakes up and I’m not back. You know how they are.”

She walked into the elevator with the couple, and asked cheerfully, “What floor?”

The woman nodded, her expression becoming colder as hawk eyes monitored the movements of her husband, “Yes, husbands do tend to worry sometimes. Floor six.”

Darla smiled wider, fringing amazement as she punched the button, “Really? Same here!”

But the man was staring from her and to the wall in wide-eyed shock. “Wh-what?”

Darla turned and sighed, mirrored elevators, _just great_. Sometimes ritzy hotels were a bitch to deal with, mirrors being the general downside.

There was no camera, though. She reached out and snapped their necks; not very fulfilling, but effective. Doing a quick search of the bodies, Darla pulled out both their room keys and stepped out of the elevator into the empty hallway.

Yeah, she loved hotels.

…*…

Cordelia snuggled up against Angel and tried to still her breathing. “Mmm,” she smiled, “this is why I like being up at night.”

Angel chuckled and stroked one hand down her bare back, resting it at the curve of her spine. “Actually it’s already day…” he watched her laugh at the time gone by. “Have I told you how lucky I am to have you recently?”

Cordelia laughed, running her hands along Angel’s chest, “Well…” she pretended to consider the matter, “I think you’ve told me, and shown me, but what about trying the latter again?”

Angel moaned appreciatively, “You never tire, do you?”

Cordelia moved to straddle him, and grinned, “Nope, that’s why you love me.”

Angel just nodded as she bent to kiss him, her warm body lying on top of his.

She slipped her tongue inside his mouth, and began to explore, as though she didn’t already know every inch of his body by heart. Her mouth was hot against his, almost scalding. Angelus had always loved how hot humans felt against him, surrounding him; especially the ones who fought him, screaming for him to stop, hot tears trickling down their cheeks, hearts beating faster and faster…

Suddenly Angel broke their passionate kiss and pushed Cordelia back, “No.”

Cordelia frowned, but climbed off of him, knowing better then to take his words as a denial of their love; she knew he loved her. “Angel, what’s wrong?”

Angel sat up and turned away from her, putting his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry!” Never sure whether he was talking to those people in his past, or to her, maybe to both.

Cordelia patted his back soothingly, trying to gain some understanding and give him comfort at the same time. "Hey, it’s okay. Performance issues were bound to happen sooner or later - we'll just get some pils." When her joke fell flat, she tried again, "What’s wrong?”

He gulped slightly, without need, and whispered quietly, “Angelus.”

Cordelia paused, scared, her mind flashing back to the first times they had sex, how many precautions had to be in place in case Angel lost his soul. She gasped out; the words in her head choking her voice slightly, “What?”

Angel didn’t notice her hand pause its soothing rhythm on his back, he was so lost in his memories. “I had a flashback, of Angelus.”

Cordelia let out the breath she had been holding and scooted closer to her lover, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It’s all right. You’re not him anymore, you’re Angel, you’d never do the things he did.”

Angel took comfort in her embrace, trying to will away the images that assaulted his eyes every second. “You don’t know what he was like, Cordy.” She was about to protest, but Angel continued, “Not when he was sane. Angelus was a cold, calculating monster. He wouldn’t have ended the world, he lived to give out as much pain as he could, nothing that quick would have satisfied him.”

Cordelia rested her chin on his shoulder and moved to run a hand through his tousled hair, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“You wouldn’t…” Angel paused, “I wouldn’t want to scare you.”

Cordelia stroked his hair and sighed, “Angel, I know that’s not you. You can tell me anything - it won’t change how much I love you.”

Angel took a shaky and unneeded breath, “The women, and girls... I couldn’t just kill them and get it over with. Hours we’d spend torturing them; I… Angelus… liked to rape them, again and again, feeding off of their screams. And Darla would emasculate then kill the husband and sons after they’d watched. We’d destroy entire families for nothing more then the joy we got out of their pain and suffering.”

Cordelia took a deep breath, steeling herself against the onslaught of images this brought to mind, victims they hadn’t been able to save and the one time she had looked at one of Giles’ watcher books by accident, detailing what Angelus and Darla used to do together. At the time, she had thought it was gross and irrelevant, now it both sickened and pained her, for his sake.

She slid around and settled herself in Angel’s lap, tilting his head to look up at her, “Oh, Angel,” it was so gentle, her voice, so knowing of everything about him and how to make it all better. “That’s not you, understand? You’re trying to make up for things like that.”

Angel looked deep into his girlfriend’s eyes, so willing to accept him, forgive him, no matter what. “Don’t you see? How can I ever make up for that?” His voice was softer now, almost a whisper, “Entire families…”

Cordelia kissed Angel softly on the lips, willing him to be still, her arms holding him close. “Shh… just hold me.”

Angel dutifully wrapped his arms around her fragile body, feeling even worse for having burdened her with this knowledge. “My beautiful Cordy…”

…*…

Darla slammed her bag down on the floor and slid into her seat with disgust. It was _much_ too early in the night to be so inactive. There was something she utterly despised about busses. All right, she despised everything about them. The odor alone, thanks to her vampiric nose, was revolting.

Darla was just getting comfortable when a middle-aged man sat in the seat next to her. He was ugly enough to give The Master a run for his money.

_And the mental image of my sire was not what I needed right now._ The stench of burning rubber as the bus started off was making her nauseous enough as it was. _Of course,_ Darla thought absently, _my sire would be proud of me for this._

The man smiled at her and looked her up and down. “Hello there, Miss.”

Darla shrugged. She was not hungry, so there was no reason to be civil; she enjoyed playing with her prey, not idiots. “Hello.”

The man seemed unfazed by her unenthusiastic response, or by the fact that he could easily have been twice her age. If Darla were alive, that was. “I’m John,” no response was forthcoming so he continued, “Are you just coming back from a trip?” he took her silence as a yes, “How lovely. How was your vacation?”

John’s hand was resting very near Darla’s exposed leg. She leaned forward to show some cleavage and, predictably, John’s hand moved to her thigh. _The male species will always be victims,_ but her quarry wasn’t satisfying enough; Darla had bigger plans. “I had a miscarriage.”

John’s eyes widened almost comically, and he withdrew his hand as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. It took him a moment to digest this news, as though he were trying to decide if he’d heard her right, “Pardon?”

Darla rolled her eyes, enunciating carefully, as though he were an even bigger idiot, “I had a miscarriage.”

He had such a look of terror on his face that Darla may as well have bitten him. “Oh,” he fidgeted with his tie, “I’m so sorry.”

Darla smiled patronizingly, “No, you misunderstand,” John looked expectant, so typical of the male species, “it was on purpose.”

John sputtered out, “Oh,” and looked as though his tie were now choking him, he was so red in the face.

She nodded, traces of bitter amusement in her eyes, “Right.”

John fidgeted under her gaze, trying to think of an appropriate comment to leave the conversation with. “Well, I mean, it was your decision, of course.”

Darla laughed discretely, not wanting the entire bus to stare at her. She might have to become violent if that happened, and the last bus trip had been so _dull_. “I’m sorry, John, you seem like a wonderful man. But you really should think before trying to pick up a girl taking the midnight bus - I could have actually done that!” She pulled out a bit of a southern twang for effect.

John couldn’t have looked more immensely relieved if he’d just gotten away with an affair, which was probably his plan. “A bad joke then?”

Darla smiled beguilingly, hooking him back in, “Of course,” she fringed innocence, “who would actually do such a thing?”

John nodded and patted his pocket awkwardly, as though it wasn’t already perfectly obvious that his wedding ring was in there. “Shall we perhaps start this conversation again, and I’ll do my utmost to get to know you?”

Darla smiled, _Why not?_ “Sure,” she spoke more to herself, although John didn’t notice, “it’s going to be a long bus ride.”


	5. Chapter IV

…*…  


## ...*Chapter IV*...

  
…*…

Dawn grew closer, an almost unnoticeable lightening in the sky, but this building was still dark as night. Fitting as the time to have nightmares, except the night was almost gone, only daylight that would bring sleep and the dreams that accompanied it. Dreams that were nightmares in their own right.

“Don’t brood, you’ll get wrinkles,” crooned a voice by Angel’s ear, successfully jolting him out of his revere.

His response was teasingly indignant, as he moved to pull the woman onto his lap. “I can’t get wrinkles!”

Cordy was nothing if not obliging when it came to sitting on Angel’s lap. “I dunno, seems to me,” she continued teasing him, still whispering in his ear, “that the older you get, the more wrinkly your,” she made a face, “'grr' face gets.”

Angel laughed slightly, knowing that she was trying to lighten his mood. This wasn’t exactly a topic he was comfortable with though, and he figured it best to get her off of it. “That’s not true; besides how would you know?!”

Cordy shrugged, having effectively completed her mission, and easily admitted, “It was a guess, Angel.” She looked down at the many maps of the city strewn over the floor, “Still trying to find those Gry-Ieke demons?”

Angel sighed slightly, “I’ve found a few, but from the visions there’s a horde living around here. I can’t find them,” he looked at his girlfriend for support, “I don’t understand how you can just hide a horde of Gry-Ieke demons - those things are huge!”

Cordy bit her lip slightly, not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to help her think. “I wish there was something more useful in my vision.” She chewed a little harder, “Tomorrow night we could try to hit the streets again, maybe find something useful.”

Without warning, Angel stood up, scooping Cordy into his arms. She giggled happily, but Angel felt a frown marring his face - she was lighter than even a week ago. “Are you okay?”

Cordy was taken off guard by the question, and now that he looked past her makeup, her cheeks were paler and her eyes had less sparkle. She swatted him on the arm playfully, “What? I’m fine, Angel.”

But he was brooding again, she could tell, just about to sit down and question her every move. “You’re sure?”

“Angel!” She whined, “I’m fine!” Seeing his doubtful expression when she looked up, Cordy tried another tactic, “You know,” she whispered conspiratorially, “if you’re too tired… you don’t have to make excuses, it’s normal at your age.”

Angel gave her a disbelieving stare, but let it go with a shrug, moving towards the stairs. He’d just watch Cordy closer - find out what was wrong without her admission. “Old! Cordy, you’re pushing it!”

…*…

This time, when Darla exited the bus, it wasn’t alone. There was a certain quality that you learned to develop as a _workingwoman_ that dragged men in, made them want you. Darla had found that quality only had benefits in her long life as a vampire, because now she was the spider that drew in the fly, not the one being used up and spit out.

Even after her little _confession_ , he was still almost too easily won. She suspected that John most definitely had his own secrets - nothing dangerous, or he wouldn’t be so stupid as to be taking her home tonight.

Well, to her hotel. It was nearly morning, and as the dawn came closer to gracing the sky, Darla wanted nothing more then to have a snack and go to bed.

Darla took a moment to survey her surroundings as she left John to get both of their luggage; he wouldn’t think her easily won, even if he were going to die.

The skyline of Los Angeles was dotted with large, well-lit skyscrapers, just as it had been the last time she was here. _Funny,_ she mused, _like I expected a city to change that much in six months._

Los Angeles still smelled like death, the homeless rotting slowly on the streets. It still sounded eerily modern with the scraping of metal on metal as buildings swayed unperceivably in the nonexistent wind, and it still tasted like demons.

The City of Angels was home to a demon population to rival all the Hellmouths put together. If she looked closely, Darla could see that the young man on the other side of the street was walking just a little too deliberately slow - vampire. That woman on the corner, a demon, and those two men swaying drunkenly and proclaiming obscenities loudly, they were really horned buckets of slime. The perfect city for a vampire trying not to be noticed - there were a million local demons that could be blamed for any murders and no one would ever think of her. Even her trademark would probably go unnoticed.

 _Nothing like being right under his very nose, killing on his turf… and he’ll never know it._ Darla happily thought as John returned, loaded down with both their bags. The vampiress strode ahead with a grim expression to her face; she hadn’t planned on thinking about _him_. “I know a hotel around here that we can stay in, okay?” There was forced cheerfulness to her voice.

John struggled awkwardly under the load of bags, even though only two were his new friend’s - it had probably been a long time since he had exerted any exercise, but he was trying to be manly now. “Right, I’ll get a cab…”

Darla shrugged her shoulders, “Okay,” she knew very well that he probably had a house and a wife to be going home to. Maybe he even had children - she really didn’t care. He would phone when he thought she wasn’t looking, make excuses, and plan for a night of adultery. It wasn’t her problem if he would be too dead to enjoy it.

John motioned to a bench, “Darla,” when she turned he had set all the bags down on it, “why don’t you sit here a minute, and I’ll run over there for the cab... there’s too many other people over here.”

Darla forced the smile back as she sat down for show and watched him scurry off, as though there weren’t just as many cabs and people here as somewhere else. He moved out of sight, and she was just turning to stand again when the young man she had watched before tapped her shoulder. “Now, what are you doing out here all alone?”

Darla’s smile was real this time as she turned, a wicked part of her whispering, _Fledgling! Not even old enough to sense another vampire!_ But he was continuing, oblivious to the danger he had placed himself in. “Are you new here? You would be so surprised the type of _people_ that lurk around this time of night. Hey! Maybe we could split a cab?”

Darla took a step closer to the young vampire, _Oh, he’s so new… fresh still, only a few days old… such a waste._ Her movements were sensuous and he responded with an idiotic grin, feeling the freedom of a vampire but still constrained by human stupidity. Before he knew it, Darla was pressed up against him, her voice speaking directly into his ear with no breath to be seen. “Oh, baby, I think I know a lot more about the _creatures_ that live in the night then you ever will. Shame you won’t live long enough to find out.”

Her petite hand gripped his throat, choking him. As expected, the young vampire began to gag and tried to pry her hand off, to no avail. “Huh,” he gasped out, still choking, “what are you doing?!”

Darla was just contemplating the most painful way to decapitate the fledgling when it occurred to her that he would at least be more entertainment than John would have. She spoke evenly, but in a breathy purr that had sealed the doom of many men - humans and demons alike. “I have an offer for you… If you come and prove your _worth_ to me, I’ll teach you how to be a _real_ vampire.”

The vampire made as much of a nod as he could, given her iron grip on his throat. Darla dropped him unceremoniously, tossed her bags at him, and stepped back with precise, cat-like movements designed to trap and kill. “So, tell me, tiger, what’s your name?”

Fortunately, a vampire’s survival instinct had already kicked in for this one, and he was also smart enough to take up a good offer when he saw one. And right now, Darla was looking like a damn better offer then some stupid teenager as a meal. “I’m Erik, you?”

Darla licked her lips slowly, “You can call me ‘Mistress’. Oh, and Erik? First lesson: use your nose,” and with that she was gone in no more than a blink.

…*…

Cordelia gently stroked her lover’s brow, hoping to somehow soothe his dreams. It was dark, light from a lamp in the hall making the room feel gray and musty, but allowing her to at least see.

It was impossible to tell that it was daylight out, if one didn’t count the sleeping vampire. _He looks so dead,_ she thought, for maybe the thousandth time.

It was a good thing he slept so sound, because otherwise at her slightest movement he would be up, worrying about her. He had been so reluctant for her to change her sleeping hours to accommodate him, but she had been insistent.

He would make her sleep at night if he knew she couldn’t during the day. She knew he was worrying as it was; the signs of lack of sleep slowly starting to appear past well-applied makeup.

But he never slept like this in the night; he was always tossing and turning, fighting against something. Or someone. Once he had even thrown her out of bed quite by accident; she’d been asleep, and woke up to find him on his knees in front of her, almost in tears. He thought he had hurt her.

“My Angel, so scared of hurting me, but what’s hurting you?” She murmured quietly, barely above a whisper, brushing hair out of his face that had fallen.

She liked when he slept like this; she would sit and watch him for hours. How his brow creased when he was having a bad dream but relaxed with her hand on it. How he was always so cold to the touch, so dead looking. She had a kind of morbid fascination for him like this; he only looked dead now, he was so life-like normally. If she tried, she could even see subtle changes in his expression that suggested his age, the era he was from.

Tonight he had commented on how light she seemed, asked what was wrong. He watched her, was always watching her; he had to know that she was eating all right.

Angel couldn’t watch her now though. She knew he wanted to; wanted to protect her, to make sure she was all right. But Cordelia had her own demons to fight; he couldn’t help with everything.

Every morning, after the sun had risen and Angel fell asleep in her arms, a nagging feeling would eat at her. And she would sit up, watch him, and soothe his daytime worries.

They’d talked, explained and gone over everything, examined every part of their relationship. But one thing bothered her; wouldn’t let her sleep.

Every night with him was complete bliss, perfect happiness. She loved him without a doubt in her mind, and every chance to _be_ with him only affirmed that. She knew, remembered, what had happened with Buffy. And yet, he’d never lost his soul with her.

And it was driving her crazy.

Angel loved her - he told her all the time - and she believed him, mostly. He said it was because of his fear about Angelus now, that he didn’t lose his soul, something he hadn’t had with Buffy.

But still, it made Cordelia wonder.

So, she sat there, day after day, her body hot and still kind of sticky from sweating out in the morning air, knowing that he was cold and immaculate as always. Letting her thoughts eat away at her until she was nothing.

But Angel loved her, and he would find out soon - she couldn’t stay awake forever. He would take care of her, hold her; make all the darkness go away.

 _Until then,_ she mused, _I’ll watch him in the dark daylight._


	6. Chapter V

…*…  


## ...*Chapter V*...

  
…*…

Dark liquid traveled over porcelain skin in a steady flood, stopping to pool in dips of the flesh. The figure stretched from her reclined position slowly, sending the puddles of fluid spilling and scurrying across her body.

One delicate finger swooped down and swiped at the offending liquid as it dripped off her side. Bringing the finger to her mouth, the woman inhaled the sweet smell and allowed a droplet of fluid to land on her tongue.

Her movements were sinuous as she leaned forward to run sharp teeth along the digit, gasping as her mouth skillfully caught more of the dark liquid resting there. Or maybe it was the look etched on the face of the blindfolded man across from her that delighted Darla so. “Fresh blood,” she whispered breathily.

Erik looked on the verge of whimpering as he struggled against his bonds, body straining from a type of lust he didn’t fully comprehend: bloodlust.

Sitting up abruptly, Darla only grinned wickedly at his struggling, brushing the remaining blood off her body and allowing it to cover the floor, spreading deliciously close to one of Erik’s bound feet. “Can you smell it teasing you? The blood?”

Darla turned away to rummage through her suitcase for a dress, torture and slaughter were nothing if not satisfying, but they also tended to be messy and she preferred not to lose clothing to bloodstains unless she was out hunting. There was a twinge of pain as the fabric caught against the still-healing hole in her stomach, but she ignored it, ignored the question in her mind of why she hadn’t healed yet.

As she turned back, Darla noted Erik’s frantic nods; he was smart enough not to attempt speech when his head was this bewildered. Finally, he managed to rush out, “Y-yes.”

Her strides back to him purposeful, Darla dug a nail into her wrist and allowed a drop of her potent blood to fall on the fledgling’s cheek. She wouldn’t give him her blood, probably ever; even her own childer had mostly been denied that privilege. _Except for…_ she stopped that train of thought pointedly. The wound on her wrist had closed almost immediately after the first drop of blood had been spilled, and she demanded, “And now?”

Erik’s demon brow furrowed in deep-seated confusion - he wasn’t even aware that he had been in game face up until that moment. He knew only that Darla had promised to teach him, and this must be a sort of lesson - of what, he couldn’t tell. It wouldn’t be until much later that he would most likely surmise the entire incident had only been an excuse for her to torture him. He was naive like that still. “It’s… different…” he struggled to make sense of what his demon was telling him. “Darker, stronger… not fresh?”

Darla nodded almost unconsciously, wiping the drop of blood off of Erik’s cheek and undoing his bonds quickly. Younger vampires couldn’t control their bloodlust, hence the bonds, and there _had_ been a point to this exercise. She was teaching him, weaning him off of human responses. _Why_ was what Darla couldn’t figure out, _why_ was she teaching a fledgling that wasn’t even her own, one she would probably kill later. _Because he could be useful,_ her thoughts countered her more reasonable impulses. If trained, he could be _very_ useful.

But now Erik was looking up at her in confusion, demon mask gone, replaced by large hazel eyes flashing gold at her. “Mistress?” he mouthed quietly, instinctually wary of breaking her reverie.

Darla kept her face perfectly impassive - no emotions showed through, real or false. “Go, hunt. And this time, know better then to go after a vampire!” As an afterthought, Darla motioned towards the bodies of the luxurious house’s previous occupants, “And clean up this mess.”

Erik nodded, jumping up and using his newfound speed to quickly dispose of the bodies before dashing out into the night, under no illusions that his speed was any match to that of his new Mistress’, should she choose to find him.

For her part, Darla had not given following Erik so much as a thought. She was tired, and feeling every day of her four hundred years. It was her plan - it did more than tire her, it pained her somewhere deep inside, in a place that she hadn’t thought existed. A small part of her didn’t want to go through with it, didn’t want to make _him_ suffer, wanted to keep _caring_ for _him._ It was an abomination of everything that was Darla, and she loathed it. She thrilled in making that part of her suffer almost as much as she reveled in the thought of _his_ suffering.

…*…

There was a sickening feeling deep inside of him, a sinking in the pits of his mind, tingling, drawing him towards something, and he didn’t know what.

Upon awaking, senses peeling past the layer of drudge that covered them when a vampire slept, the feeling only deepened. Without opening his eyes, without _moving_ , Angel knew that Cordelia wasn’t lying beside him like she should be.

A moment of panic filled Angel’s heart as he wondered if something had happened to his girlfriend. He knew he should have awoken from something that big happening, but he couldn’t help but wonder.

Dreams had been plaguing him so that he felt the dream and thought it was real, and that the waking was the dream. It utterly disoriented his senses, leaving him guessing if something had happened or not.

But that was only a second, and then Angel expanded his senses beyond the bed and noted Cordy sitting by the window. _She’s safe,_ he assured himself quickly, then another thought disconcerted him, _She’s awake. Why is she awake?_ Now that he focused on it, he couldn’t smell any sleep on her.

 _So that’s what it is,_ he reflected, _she hasn’t been sleeping._ Angel fought to suppress a growl as the notion presented itself that _he_ was the cause of her pain, _again!_

He didn’t know how to bring it up, how to delicately inquire as to why she wasn’t asleep without accusing her. _Maybe bluntness is the only way,_ he decided. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Cordelia jumped, startled, from her position by the window absorbed in her thoughts. His voice sounded deep and hurt, something she hadn’t predicted. “I can’t.”

“How long?” his voice was sad, he knew it was sad, but he hadn’t really thought her capable of keeping such a secret from him.

Cordelia had thought about this day often, but Angel’s reactions were different then she had expected, as though something were weighing his decisions other than himself. She knew her voice would crack even before she spoke, but she just wanted him to make it better, not to have to go through this another second. “Always.”

Angel heard the crack in her voice, could see how the sleep deprivation was affecting her body, but made no move to comfort her. He couldn’t let Cordelia do this to herself, couldn’t let her think it was okay that she _had_ done this. “You’ll sleep at night,” he could see her about to protest and held his hand up firmly, “No.” Softer, “You have to sleep, Cordy. You’re human, you need rest. I’ll go back to the hours I kept when you just worked for me.”

Cordelia let out a shuddering breath, “But you never sleep well like that. And you’re not even sleeping well now - something’s bothering you, and sleeping half the night will _not_ make it better!”

Angel sighed, expelling unneeded air from dead lungs and finally moving to hold the fragile human living with him. “I’m immortal, Cordy, barring pointy pieces of wood. Dreams won’t hurt me; a little less sleep won’t kill me. It _will_ hurt you.”

Right then, she knew it, knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. And being held in his strong arms, Cordelia began to wonder if maybe this would have ramifications in the long run, that he couldn’t share this with her, whatever was bothering him. But she gave in almost before the words themselves were spoken, “All right, I’ll sleep at night, without you.”

Angel sighed and held Cordy tighter, “It’s for the best,” he murmured more to himself than to his girlfriend, more to assure himself away from that haunted look in her eyes.

…*…

Pain rippled through her stomach as Darla rolled over, and she couldn’t believe where it had come from, or why she was just now awake. The vampire was up in a second, looking for the intruder, prepared to tear off limbs, but found none. It didn’t even _smell_ like anyone had been in the room besides her and the now deceased owners.

Taking a quick survey of her naked body, she realized that it was that self-inflicted wound on her stomach throbbing so. Darla pondered it - there was no blood leaking, her body had at least healed that much, but there was still a nice slash mark stretching deeply into her skin. And right now, it hurt.

She felt slightly melancholy with all this, but also bemused; it could hurt all it wanted, but nothing would change. Whatever had been living inside of her was dead, and powers of goodness be damned, she was sure they couldn’t change it now. Something like that took large forces of power, bypassing laws of even the perverted nature that vampires were spawned from - they couldn’t just try again. Besides, she hadn’t slept with anyone since all this had started.

Her bed was empty by choice; Darla had decided since the start of this trip to share it with nobody. Her torture and planning were being saved up, and she just hadn’t been in the mood for a side-game of suffering, especially with questions about the wound in her stomach.

Besides, minions were bothersome until they forgot their human emotions, especially the males - they hung onto lingering feelings of control or that it meant something after sex. You really had to torture them throughout the experience to expel it, had to break their domineering streaks.

She just didn’t care to bother.

So Darla was alone. It had used to bother her, the solitude, for the first few years after… well, she had hated it; her worst fears brought to light. After _his_ childer had left, though, she had become accustomed to being alone, actually enjoyed it. Being at her sire’s disposal was trite and usually painful; being by herself was full of peace and occasionally someone to torment.

While being human, even so briefly, she didn’t like it; there had been so much to fear. Her old loathing of being on her own had come surging back. But now was a time for isolation and seclusion; she needed to do this without intrusion into her solitude.

The reminder of her plan had Darla dressing quickly, and as soon as jeans and a top had been pulled on her body, she called out. “Erik, come here!”

She tried to be patient, as she waited because she knew that he would have a harder time shaking off the daytime sleep, even if it were almost dark. When he finally came, it was with his eyes cast on the ground and slower movements, “Yes, Mistress?”

Darla stretched languidly, running a brush through her hair, long used to not having a mirror to look through. “Contrary to what you may think, Erik, I don’t ever do things without a purpose. When I brought you here, it was with a plan, and I think it’s high time that we got started on it.”

The excitement in the fledgling’s eyes was almost comical, but Darla knew the feeling. A master vampire always knew what they were doing, and it was always grand and violent; to be a fledgling involved in that was something wonderful. “What is your plan, Mistress?”

But she ignored his question, brushing it off like a fly, unimportant to her. Stepping close to him, she could feel his slight fear, hear his shallow breathing, which he no longer needed. She purposefully exhaled the dead air from her lungs as she spoke, her voice flowing light and dangerous. “Tell me… have you ever heard of Angel?”


	7. Chapter VI

…*…  


## ...*Chapter VI*...

  
…*…

His shock at seeing her was only surpassed by the lust she invoked in him, the pull of things far older than them both. He knew he wanted her body, knew he wanted her love, but there was something else… he wanted her blood. Want, though, was a small word in the comparison to what he felt, an all-consuming passion, fueled by raging desire… for her blood.

There was laughter echoing in her voice, a faint reminder of things he couldn’t quite remember. He remembered her though, remembered her body and knew he’d had her before. It seemed, from her words that he couldn’t quite catch but knew the meaning of anyway, that she remembered him.

Her movements were graceful and fluid: predatory, but hinting at so much more. Shaking her hair out of her face and baring that delightful neck, she strode towards him. Just a little closer and he would overpower her, feast on her warm… _Or was it cold?_ … blood. Then alertness flooded through his system as though he was waking from a drug, and he was shocked at where his thoughts had gone. He didn’t want her blood, didn’t want to kill her… did he?

This moment of indecisiveness was all she needed, as she was closer to him now, and swiftly she climbed up on the bed, silky dress flowing behind her as she moved to straddle him. Now all his senses were awake and on overdrive. He could feel every inch of her fragile body pressed up against his; feel her curves and bones through the thin material she wore over them.

Soft lips descended to kiss his, and a feeling of complete happiness, complete heaven overcame him. She was so soft, gentle, beautiful, and all he wanted was to keep her there forever, have her with him always. His hands slowly encircled her waist, cautious of the strength he knew was contained in them; he was terrified of breaking her, but in the moment, it didn’t matter.

Arching up, she rubbed her body tightly against his, her long, thin hands entangling themselves in his hair, holding him close. Then she was crushed up against him, forcibly, her lips demanding against his, punishing, her tongue snaking into his mouth, her teeth biting down on a lip that she had captured.

His arms pulled her tightly against him until he could feel bones breaking, hear them, but he wouldn’t let go; his mouth met hers just as painfully, but it was glorious feeling. The moment of peace was over, never to return. Leaning back, he kept her body flush to his, ready to take her or let her ride him, anything to get them closer. He wanted to be the dominant one, to be in control.

Just as suddenly as the kiss had begun it was over, as she yanked her head away from his. The fire and passion in her eyes teased him of delicious things to come, so he loosened his arms from their death grip around her waist and she rose up above him.

Instead of that silky material coming off and her soft skin pressed up against his, he found her climbing off of him, up and off the bed. She loomed over him from the foot of the bed, her hair wild, her eyes powerful, and a preciseness to her movements that made him wonder how she had seemed so delicate and breakable before.

With his now clear mind, he could hear every word she said easily, their coldness stabbing through his dead heart. “You’re not him. You’ll never _be_ him!”

Yellow eyes flashing cruelly, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, she turned and stormed away, still just as petite as ever but with a hate that consumed them both.

As he watched her leave, felt his heart being ripped out, her words repeated themselves in his head… _you’re not him,_ and he knew that he couldn’t let her walk away, had to tell her that he _was_ him! The words left his mouth just as she left sight, “Darla…”

Angel woke with a start, panting heavily, and wide-awake enough to remember every detail of his dream. _Darla,_ his mind berated him, teasing him with memories of the dream intermixed with his – their – past, and reminders of when she had played games with his dreams before. They had been this real, but no, she had never left him so abruptly, never stopped before they were both spent. _So, it was a dream then. I was dreaming. About Darla._

A slight groan escaped his mouth as Angel took in the familiar room around him, the familiar _warm_ body pressed against his, and wondered why it felt so alien. Wondered why he was dreaming of his sire again, of her blood and body, and not even pleasant dreams, cruel ones.

 _This isn’t a good sign,_ Angelus taunted him from just outside his conscious thought stream, and Angel had to agree. _Not good at all._

…*…

Tossing the last body in among the rest, Darla stood back and admired her creation. Each victim had a cross carved into their left cheek and an intricate tattoo on their right. The unfortunate young women were still in their traditional nun attire, splattered with their own blood.

The nearly twenty women were lined up forming the shape of an ‘A’, with looks of terror etched onto their faces and various limbs hanging at odd angles. _They’ve never looked less at peace,_ she decided with a detached sense of joy.

For his part, Erik looked a little less pleased with their work, or maybe just annoyed by all the burns he had suffered from crosses while dragging the nuns out of the convent. He had not failed to notice that there was a decided message in the bodies and it tired him slightly that his mistress wouldn’t share _what_! Hoping desperately that Darla was in a good enough mood to humor him, Erik asked, “What’s the ‘A’ for?”

However, Darla’s mood had quickly deteriorated while she had begun painting ‘you’re not him’ in small letters from the nuns’ blood, a quiet message that hopefully _he_ would find last. The vampiress had remembered happier times in convents with her mate, when the killing had always led to pastimes of a different sort but just as enjoyable. Things had been certain then. Sure there had been scuffles, vampire hunters, _And admittedly, Drusilla was a beautiful nightmare._ But there had always been the assurance of having a mate and not facing eternity alone.

Darla raised her head and leveled her now considerable wrath on the fledgling in front of her, disconcerted and willing to take out her frustration on him. “Did we not already have the Angel conversation?”

“No,” Erik mumbled, tossing tattoo ink behind him and using that as a reason to look down, “you asked me if I’d heard of the guy, I said no, and you said never mind.”

Getting up, Darla listened carefully for the sounds of any approaching humans; she wanted to be gone before all this hit the news. Keeping her voice level if not acidic, she asked, “And in your imbecile little brain, does ‘never mind’ mean to keep pestering me? Because to me, now correct me if I’m wrong, ‘never mind’ means don’t ask me again!”

At that moment, absolutely the last thing Erik wanted to do was to ‘correct’ the angry older vampire. Choosing his words carefully, he answered in what he hoped was a passive voice, “I’m sorry for bothering you, Mistress.”

Shrugging her delicate shoulders, Darla waved her hand dismissively and started off into the night slowly, allowing for Erik to catch up with her. “Enough. It’s time we left so our present can be discovered.”

Pulling open a cell phone that she had swiped from someone inconsequential when they bumped into her, a useful little trait she’d picked up from Spike decades ago, Darla looked down at a flyer and dialed the number. When the person on the other end picked up, the vampiress used her best terrified little girl voice, “Oh god, it’s so horrible! There’s blood and oh, so much blood! You’ve got to hurry, East Eighty-Fifth Street, by the old warehouse; I think they’re dead! He… it killed them!”

Smirking, she slammed the phone shut without waiting for a response and took off into the night with Erik trailing her; satisfied that her work would soon be discovered.

…*…

Not even fifteen minutes after Cordelia had answered the disturbing phone call from a girl that sounded frightened and young, they were out the door. The rest of the group had taken an early night due to no demon activity, and Angel and Cordelia had been curled up on the couch, planning the rest of their evening.

The vampire had suggested a trap, but they both knew that neither could not go and then feel responsible for some girl’s death, not to mention the others. Cordelia had been forced to run for the phone, and even with his preternatural hearing, Angel couldn’t listen to the conversation. But the young seer had assured him the girl sounded honestly terrified.

Now as the car pulled next to the abandoned warehouse on East Eighty-Fifth, both of its occupants were on full alert, searching for an attacker or victims.

It was Angel who first noticed the field adjacent to the warehouse, and then pointed it out to Cordelia as they exited the car. Both carried weapons, the human along with a flashlight, and looked cautious as they approached what appeared to be a spotlight in the otherwise deserted field.

The vampire could smell the blood and stench of death and moved faster, his human counterpart running to keep up with him. Neither was prepared for the sight that greeted them.

“Oh, god, Angel!” Cordelia moaned, overwhelmed by the gore and how grotesquely it was displayed in the light. “All the bodies!”

But Angel had bent down on the blood-soaked ground, next to one of the deceased nuns; he was studying her face with a look of discomfort etched on his own. “Look at the shape…” he was trying to force himself to tell her, tell her that this disgusting display was similar to the havoc he had wrought.

Having recovered slightly from the first shock of the bodies, coupled with the image of Angel kneeling so calmly in the blood, surveying it all, Cordelia took a deep breath. _I’ve seen the work of demons before; I’ve seen the blood and gore. Not that you can ever get used to it, but I can at least function in spite of it. I have to._ Taking a closer look at the way the bodies were lined up, trying to ignore the obvious broken necks and bones, she gasped, “It’s in the shape of an ‘A’. Why is it in a shape like that?”

“I… Angelus, liked crosses. It was a way of defacing old Catholic guilt and the fact that I can’t touch them… Carving a cross into the cheek of a victim, it was a trademark of mine - well, one of many. I liked to torture nuns; convents of them we destroyed.” Images of Angelus laughing over similarly slaughtered bodies assaulted him.

Putting an arm around her love, Cordelia bent down next to him, careful not to let her knees touch the blood-stained ground, and looked at the bodies. She was torn between wondering if this display was meant for her lover to find or to be blamed for. Nuns, crosses carved into the cheek, and… _His tattoo…_ “Whoever did this… they knew you!”

Leaning back onto his heels and the comforting embrace that was waiting for him there, something else caught his eye. “ _You’re not him…_ ”

Cordelia looked over at the blank face of the vampire she loved - she hated when he brooded, when he could tell what she was going to say… “That’s right, Angel, you’re _not_ him! You never will be; you never have been.”

“No,” the dream from last night was back in full visual, he could see every moment of it in perfect detail. _‘You’re not him, you’re not him,’_ taunted Angel like a badly broken record as he saw everything in slow motion. _She’s here…_


	8. Chapter VII

…*…  


## ...*Chapter VII*...

  
…*…

The rapid amount of objects being sorted through had him at a slight disadvantage. He hadn’t been aware that anything could move quite as fast as the woman in front of him was. Erik was guarding, as he had been instructed, and that didn’t shake his unease any. There was something off about this whole situation, he could smell it; he just wasn’t sure exactly what smelled so odd. “What are you looking for, maybe I could help,” he ducked the most recent object to be tossed his way.

Not unusual for her anymore, Darla was irritated. She wanted to wonder when she had become so old feeling and bitchy, but there was no time for self-analysis, not when she was so close to reaching her goal. The fact that Angel hadn’t de-invited her mildly amused her since she supposed he could have easily enough. However, the fact that – judging by the amount of her stuff in the room, and the smell – Cordelia had apparently moved in did not. “Perhaps,” digging through a pile of Angel’s clothing, Darla yanked out body mist from her purse, “spray this.”

If somewhat dubious, Erik took the offered item and examined it carefully. Pure jasmine perfume. Well, he figured that smelling like an odd flower would be the least of his worries at the end of this. Besides, he was starting to get the feeling that not only was he missing something; he was missing a hugely important something. Darla knew this Angel person a little too well for this to be any ordinary scheme. Dutifully, Erik pressed the little spray button and the aroma of jasmine masked all the other smells in the room. “Done and done.”

An almost content feeling washed over Darla with the smell - she absolutely loved jasmine, it made her think clearer and she knew that made her stronger. Also, this meant she could continue her search without having to smell Cordelia on everything; it had been starting to make her nauseous, if that was even possible. Suddenly, her fingers encountered the rougher surface of paper. Standing on her tiptoes on the chair she had pulled up, Darla snatched the thick bundle out of the closet and examined her prize. “Ah, here it all is. Always such an artist, my boy…”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Erik moved forward and examined the papers carefully. Within the first bundle were several smaller stacks, tied with scraps of silk. He had barely had time to wonder what the silk was from when he really got the chance to look at what was on the paper. Drawings, they were drawings. There was an unfamiliar dark haired woman in the first, and the smallest, stack. “Wow, who’s she?”

However, Darla had already thrown that stack away from her and partway across the room. She had no desire to see what _he_ had drawn of this new mortal twit. The second, slightly larger, stack followed quickly, because the vampiress most certainly didn’t want to look at pictures of the Slayer, especially if _he_ had continued his trend of slightly… provocative… artistry. The third stack was set aside indifferently, but gently. Then she saw it and her breath caught in her throat for a moment - there it was. “Oh,” she carefully untied the papers, aware that some would be quite old.

Erik watched in fascination as the final bundle came into his view. It was by far the largest stack, and undoubtedly his mistress. Feeling as though there might be valuable information to be found, he looked on eagerly, hoping that some of his suspicions might be confirmed. He wisely chose to stay silent.

The first few drawings were new, the clean, crisp, white paper standing out against the drawings behind it. They were in the same style of detailed sketches, and they were of her. She didn’t remember the first couple, and since her vampiric memory was basically flawless, she figured they must have been dreams. The next picture she recognized, but it amazed her how at peace she had looked. _That night…_

Shaking off those memories, she carefully moved aside all the newer pictures and finally reached the tender, yellowing paper she remembered from its prime. In most of them she was laughing or naked, or both, in a few she was sleeping. There was one where she was sitting in her bodice and underskirt, looking out a window at the night. Darla remembered posing for that picture, remembered that night; it had been when she had first discovered his little habit and he had offered to draw her then and there. It had been beautiful.

She didn’t want to remember. Not anymore, not the way things were now.

Inadvertently, Erik saved Darla from her thoughts, having until now observed these pictures in silent shock. He had caught a few glimpses of decidedly bare skin that was being sorted just out of his view, and then he had seen drawings that looked to be ancient. He wasn’t up on his history, but from the aged paper and the styles of dresses Darla was wearing, he could tell they were definitely over a hundred years old. “Wow, I didn’t know you were that old. So what, did that Angel guy draw these?”

Nodding absently, Darla left the drawings lying in abstract piles on the bed then bent to retrieve the other stacks; Drusilla, Buffy, and Cordelia. She carefully hid those in a place she figured it would take Angel a bit to find, and motioned to Erik that it was time to leave. “I’m quite a bit older than those drawings, Erik, but all you really need to know is that I’m older than you will most likely live to see. And yes, my boy drew those.”

Following her unhurriedly, Erik hoped that he would finally get some answers. As an afterthought, he sprayed the bottle of jasmine scent he was still holding, because he didn’t want to look as though he had forgotten about it and also because this place really did smell old. He couldn’t understand how anyone could stand it. “So what was your deal with him?”

“My deal with him,” Darla repeated absently, already anticipating the discovery of one of _his_ dirty little secrets and half lost in memories of pleasant times far in the past, in their past. She answered him because she didn’t care, didn’t care what he thought, what he knew, any of it. “He was my childe, my lover, my mate…”

Erik was vaguely familiar with the use of ‘childe’; the idea of having a mate made little sense to him, for his sire had been as inexperienced as he himself was, and he hadn’t been undead long enough to find it out on his own. But, lover, now that he most certainly got. This whole situation was starting to make him uneasy, he didn’t think getting on Darla’s bad side was a good idea, but this guy had been alive a long time. “And now?”

The wound was still slightly fresh to her mind, more so than the stubborn hole in her stomach, for that didn’t bother her nearly so much. Still, pain and mind games were what she lived for, what she excelled in, and they were certainly nothing new; she could handle a few twinges. “And now, we’re not.”

“So…” Erik was confused as to how all this had come about, but he doubted his chances of enlightenment. Whatever had happened, he hoped Angel was prepared because Darla was definitely planning something, and from what he could tell, this didn’t seem like some whim for vengeance.

Having moved ahead of him, Darla ascended the stairs and stood in front of the balcony for a moment, surveying their handiwork. The place had thoroughly been ransacked, the pictures were lying in wait, and all she could smell now was jasmine. Her scent, her pictures, her perfume. _Perfect. Now hurry home, my darling…_ In one fluid movement, she jumped over the rails and landed on the floor in front of Erik. Swinging the doors open wide, Darla strode out into the night with the fledgling in tow. “Come now, Erik, it’s high time we were off to other things.”

…*…

If the open doors hadn’t set off warning bells, the scent that had hit him halfway down the street did. Quickly, he got out of the car and took a deep, if unnecessary, breath, inhaling as much as he could. It was the scent all right, exactly as it had been a thousand times before, except now it was most certainly not a comforting smell. Angel turned back to the other occupant of the car, “Stay here, Cordy…”

But the open doors were a bit of a tip off and Cordy knew something was wrong. _God, what now?_ She was tired and still shaken from the bodies in the field and the subsequent images her mind kept conjuring up. “No, Angel, this is my home too. I want to come with you. Besides, it’s safer that way,” she knew enough to appeal to his protective streak.

Helping her out of the car, Angel cautiously stepped forward, a sense of foreboding coming over him more each step he took. Quickly he realized that he had overreacted - there was nobody around but them. The smells had confused him for a moment, but Cordelia and him were definitely the only ones in the building. “It’s safe, I think. Unless there’s some demon that I can’t sense, smell, or hear.” But he already knew it wasn’t.

Nodding, Cordelia released his hand and moved forward on her own, eyes flashing in anger that someone had invaded her home, their home. _And speaking of smells,_ “What is that obnoxious odor? Did some cheep whore break into the building and spray her perfume?”

Angel had to physically restrain himself from wincing - not only did Cordelia hate a scent that had been his favorite for centuries, but he felt the insult far more than it’s wearer ever would’ve. _I don’t know it’s… yes I do, of course it’s her._ “Let’s see whose work this looks like before we jump to conclusions - probably Wolfram and Hart after something we don’t even have again.”

The sight of the front hall was something to behold, papers and everything else that had once been put away strewn over the floor. There were splotches of red, but noticing a container of pig’s blood nearby, Angel quickly realized that it was from the raided fridge. While he had been looking all this over Cordelia had moved ahead of him and suddenly shrieked, “Oh my god!”

Running through the mess, Angel hopped over a few chairs and came to what he assumed was her aid. Cordelia was standing in their room, her back to him, and holding… something… “Cordy, what’s wrong?”

Spinning around, Cordelia set her hardest glare on Angel and tried not to cry. Not only had her home been ransacked, her privacy violated, her stuff thrown all over the place, but she had just found the worst thing of all. Pictures, of a woman, a woman that was definitely not her, and she knew who it was. Holding up the evidence out of his grasp, she tried to choke down the betrayal. “How could you?! What the hell, Angel!?” She yanked out a particularly vivid portrait of the naked woman, “You know what I went through with Xander… and… I thought you loved me?”

He stood there in shock and horror. Angel recognized the items in his girlfriend’s hands now, drawings - his drawings - his drawings of Darla. Immediately, he knew he would have to explain but Angel didn’t understand how he possibly could. _Cordelia, where are the drawings of Cordelia?_ “Cordelia, let me explain… I’m sorry… it’s not what you think, there are others…”

“Others?!” she cut him off roughly, wanting to run out but knowing she couldn’t - he was blocking the door and was faster than her anyway, and she was a mature adult now. _I’m not going to run from this._ “Wonderful, Angel, not only are there naked drawings of a woman that was not only your ex-girlfriend, but also almost got me killed, but there are _others_.” She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, “I would start talking very fast if I were you.”

Moving towards the closet, he reached up and found nothing. He quickly scanned the room for any place where Darla could have hidden the pictures. It took him a few minutes to locate the correct spot, but he did find it. _I didn’t spend a hundred and fifty years with you and not know you Darla…_ However, in the time it took another fact dawned on him, there had been someone besides his sire in this room, another vampire. _What are you up to?_ “No, not like that. Look,” when she turned her head, he untied them and repeated, more forcefully, “look. These are of _you_. It’s not just her, or anyone. I have lots of these, yes, I was with Darla for a long time, but I’m with you now. This is what I do, I draw.”

Slowly, Cordelia scanned over the drawings of herself. She was sleeping, in all of them, sometimes peaceful, sometimes troubled, and they were all dated, signed in Angel’s old-fashioned sprawled writing. Biting back the tears for the moment, she asked carefully, “Who else?” When Angel made a little sighing sound, she called out her inner Queen C. “Who else, Angel? I have to know. And, if you’ve ever loved me, you’ll… show me.”

The protest died on the tip of his tongue. If nothing else, Angel knew when it was time to stop pushing his luck and obey. These - he’d never meant to show her any, not even the ones of herself, but that wasn’t the point. He was being forced now, by the woman he couldn’t escape and the one he didn’t want to. Pulling out the others, he handed them over dutifully, “Darla, Drusilla, Buffy, you… Cordy - Cordelia, I do - I love you.”

She barely skimmed over the papers, not wanting to see them. Smiling faces, laughing faces, sleeping faces, attached to at best partially dressed bodies. And worst of all, it appeared the only two who had ever been aware of this fascination by the man she loved were evil vampires. “All right." She nodded. "Burn them. I never want to see these again - not even the ones of me.”

Cautiously Angel reached for the pictures, assuring and at the same time denying her, because he knew he would never burn them. He had kept these things with him for centuries, decades, it didn’t matter, because most everything else he had been perfectly willing to give away or leave without. “You’ll never see them again, Cordy, I promise. And I do love you, but I can’t get rid of them,” he hoped she could see the sincerity in his eyes, “it’s not about you or because of you. I love you. But these are one of the few things I did as Angelus that I still enjoy doing, and so I keep them. I don’t look at them, Cordy - most of the time I forget they’re even there, but I’ve had them for centuries. I can’t just get rid of them.”

Carefully, Cordelia nodded, she could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Truth; he loved her and he was sorry he had hurt her. Anything else he had said didn’t matter. She began to move the pictures forward, towards him, when something caught her eye. Without jerking at all, Cordelia followed that one picture with her eyes, and it wounded her. Another of Darla, but it was new, the paper was white, and what had caught her eye: the date was from only a few days ago, and that was her lover’s signature on the bottom. Tears started to well up but she forced them back, deciding that he did love her, and he would tell her what was going on. If he didn’t, that would be an issue for later. “Okay,” and as soon as he had taken the pictures she turned and left the room, “just give me a minute. I’m going to clean up the entryway.”

…*…

“And thanks to much research, these new murders have been connected to a style of serial killer in the eighteen hundreds, who was widely copied at that period in time. Because of the large range of places and times that those murders took place, and the superstitions of the time, it was rumored by masses to have been a vampire. These newer murders appear to be exact copies. And now to our guest analyst, Mr. Timothy Greenheart.”

From her spot happily lounging on the couch, Darla watched as sanitized pictures of the recent murders played in the corner, interrupted by newspaper articles recovered from the eighteen hundreds of those murders, just rough sketches. She mused, “Photographs deliver so much more fear to the general population. Those drawings never did our work justice.”

The television screen, meanwhile, had switched to Timothy Greenheart’s point of view on the subject. He was a nervous looking, twitchy man, with a balding head, thick glasses, and a slightly greenish pallor to match his name. “Due to the obscurity of these reference articles, which were only brought to our attention by an anonymous tip, it is likely that the killer in question is very aware of history, perhaps a librarian or archivist. The peculiar thing about these copycat murders, which led to the ever-popular vampire theory, was that the blood of the victims has been drained in all such cases. This indicates a deeply disturbed psyche, possibly someone who believes they actually are a vampire…”

Jumping up in outrage, Darla pointed first at the television, then cast her scathing glare towards Erik. “Did you hear that?” She hissed, “ _Believes they actually are a vampire,_ I’ll give them cause to believe too!” Darla slipped into game face and regarded Erik, “Do I not look like a vampire to you, because I was under the impression I was one!”

Nodding quickly, Erik assured her, “You are most certainly a vampire, Mistress, without a doubt. See, there’s the fangs, and the bumpies, and the yellow eyes.” He shrugged, trying to think of something else he could think of and coming up with nothing at the moment. “Yep, all vampire-ish.”

Slipping back into her human mask, Darla nodded almost serenely; she hadn’t really cared enough, but she found it amusing how Erik had attempted to reassure her with facts that she already knew. Darla was four hundred, and well aware that she was a demon of the night. “Glad you think so.”

Erik couldn’t quite decide whether she was being serious or sarcastic, but luckily he remembered a piece of information from the newscast that had intrigued him and decided to change the subject. “They said there was an anonymous tip, who do you think that was? Angel?”

Darla rolled her eyes, “No.”

Pausing to think about who else would have known or told about Darla’s massacre of the nuns, he turned back to see her raising her eyebrow at him. A sure sign that he was missing something, _but what?_ Then the right conclusion occurred to him, “You? You were the anonymous informant?”

Laughing, Darla nodded. Curling herself up on the couch easily, due to her small frame, Darla looked the very vision of innocence and beauty. It was hard to imagine that not only had she created the sickening display flashing across the screen, it was all part of some much eviler plan. “Of course I told them. It’s no fun if your work doesn’t get the attention it deserves.”

Erik was about to reply when the television filtered back into his frontal focus and promptly distracted him. The man on the screen was back to some normal newscaster, the special guest obviously having fled the show. “I’d like to repeat, this man is presumed very large, deranged, and considered very dangerous. While churches should be the most wary, we don’t know his mindset; people should try to stay in groups after dark. However, there is no reason to panic.”

Licking her lips wickedly, Darla stretched from her seat, arching up and rolling her shoulders back, moving her neck in a circular motion. After she had stretched properly, the vampiress grinned, “No, Dan, I’d say there’s every reason to panic,” then she tilted her head slightly, her voice seeming almost bitter, “I never get any credit! Of course it was a man; a woman would have been too weak or some such nonsense. I’ll have you know that I was responsible for as much destruction as Angelus then, and more before.”

Erik cast a nervous look at Darla, worried that she might explode at any given moment and try to take his head off, or open the curtains, or some other insanity. He’d only been around the volatile older vampire for a few weeks, but already he knew better than to piss her off; she’d alluded to punishments he had no desire to be involved in. “Oh?”

Sighing, Darla completely ignored Erik’s nervous glance, or even that he was there. His little questioning voice didn’t interrupt her train of thought in the slightest because she didn’t pay it any mind. Darla was much more concerned with the vague sketch of the killer that was starting to look like a decidedly familiar figure, thanks to her ‘anonymous’ tips. “Oh well, let my boy enjoy all the credit this time…”

Erik simply let out the breath he had been holding, glad that Darla was still laughing instead of threatening. She seemed to be lost in thoughts that he’d gotten only a glimpse of when they’d been in Angel’s room, and still had no idea what they contained. But for now they were making her happy, so he was more than willing to leave her be. Quietly leaving her to the newscast, Erik couldn’t help but wonder at it all. _Damn, whatever he did to piss her off, it must have been really bad…_


	9. Chapter VIII

…*…  


## ...*Chapter VIII*...

  
…*…

The stench of humans, sweat, cheep perfume, and fast food assaulted his nose and reminded Angel why he’d always despised coming into malls. While many a vampire enjoyed feeding on the grease-packed teenagers that crowded this place, Angel failed to understand how they could even put up with being here.

 _I’m on a mission,_ he reminded himself, as if he could have forgotten. Angel’s memory wasn’t getting that dull. Cordelia was still horribly mad at him, and Angel couldn’t say that he blamed her. Even though he hadn’t mentioned who it was that ransacked the hotel, he was pretty sure that Cordelia didn’t care at the moment. She was mad about her strewn about stuff, mad about the drawings, and mad at him.

Understandably, this made Angel’s mission that much more important. He knew what he needed, just not what it was or where to get it. He had entered this brightly lit place, in which the fluorescent lighting made him look dead and assaulted his keen eyes, to find Cordelia a present.

Not since his last set of encounters with Darla, where he had to buy Cordelia a whole new wardrobe as an apology gift for firing her, had he entered this place, and hopefully, barring future screw-ups, he wouldn’t have to ever again. But Cordelia enjoyed the bright, modern clothes and expensive perfumes and he was here to get her something that she wanted. To remind her that he did love her.

The people irritated him and engaged Angelus, who was in the forefront of Angel’s mind pointing out the tasty, thankfully grease-free, treats that walked by casting flirtatious glances, unaware that if Angelus had his way, they’d be dead. The insults and threats from his inner demon grated on Angel’s brain.

He rounded a corner and suddenly it seemed that everyone had just disappeared; he was all alone, weary, hungry, and ready to go home.

And then, there she was, just a flash, long enough for her to wink and give him one of those looks like she used to. The ones that promised pleasure rather than pain, the ones that made him think he was hallucinating all over again and threw his mind over the edge. The type of looks that yanked Angelus’ caged ramblings to a centered point, the forefront of Angel’s mind.

Thoughts like this were dangerous, he knew, but she looked so gorgeous, just as his flawless memory would never allow him to forget. Holding her gaze steady, he watched as she raised her delicate but dangerous hands and blew him a kiss. Then, like the kind of dream he would never admit to having, she was gone. Faster than even such expert eyes as his could catch.

It hit Angel all at once, the smell of blood, overwhelmingly strong, and being able to hear Angelus’ whisperings still so clearly, Angel wasn’t sure if he could think at all. Blood, fresh blood, human blood, so strong… so much of it… it was confusing as he fought to clear his head and come back to reality.

A body - warm, wet, struggling - thrown at him by some unseen assailant. Angel caught it deftly, listened as the sound of a fading heartbeat pounded in his head and the smell of blood became even stronger and harder to resist than before. Angel wouldn’t allow his demon mask to appear though, wouldn’t let into a temptation that shouldn’t have been so great.

Looking down, reality came crashing back with a bang, the seeming mist around his senses clearing as Angel took in the barely breathing girl in his arms, bleeding clearly from two puncture wounds in her neck - bleeding on him. Young, so young, still in her teens, pretty but growing pale, paler than she should have ever had to be.

He could hear voices, footsteps, people were returning and there was no time to stay. They would take care of her, they had to, and there was simply nothing else that Angel could do without throwing himself upon the mercy of humans. _Been there, tried that._ And he had been watching the news, seen the sketches of a killer that fit this profile, fit his description.

Senses fully returning in a rush, Angel realized the possible ramifications for his brief lapse of soulful sanity. As gently as he could, Angel laid the frightened and suddenly wide-eyed young girl down, whispered soothingly, “Shh, it’ll be okay, just hold on…” If her life were to be the price to pay, he was unwilling to pay it.

She gasped and clutched at his blood stained shirt for a moment, and then her eyes fluttered shut, the blood-loss taking it’s toll on her as her heartbeat slowed some more. There was no time for Angel to wonder further for her because he could hear those footsteps just about to round the same corner he had moments before. A quick check around and he found an exit, using all his vampiric speed to get through it and out into the safety of the night.

No time to wonder if he had really seen _her_ or if his dreams were getting worse, turning into bizarre delusions where the fragrance of jasmine clouded his senses so badly that he couldn’t think. No time to wonder how much this slip-up in his eternal life would cost him.

…*…

Watching him leave, she waited a few minutes before twirling around in delight. A few drops of fresh, virgin blood dribbled down her pale lips to her flawlessly white skin. Already, she could see the mortal policemen fanning out around the still-breathing young woman.

It wasn’t often that Darla left a victim alive, but this one she wanted to tell a tale about the dark vampire fleeing into the night. Her plan had gone so perfectly that Darla was feeling giddy, more than satisfied with this temporary outcome to her plots.

Erik, who was in a bit of a sulk that he had handled the bleeding girl and hadn’t even gotten a taste, was observing all this with the interest only an outside observer could pull off. Anyone of Darla’s extended family would have seen a good portion of this for what it was, known that the signs didn’t bode well for either Darla or Angel, but Erik could see without that attachment in his perspective. He watched Darla lick off the blood staining her lips and sullenly asked, “So, was that guy Angel then?”

Stopping in an abrupt turn to face Erik, Darla rolled her body into a sensual stretch and was rather reminded of Drusilla by her own spontaneous little dance. It wasn’t often that Darla allowed herself moments to be that carefree. Thoughts of Drusilla made Darla wonder whether she should send Erik to find the younger vampiress - he wouldn’t be needed for any of her other plans and Drusilla would, undoubtedly, love to be a part of her ‘daddy’s downfall.

Quickly, Darla brushed aside the notion for later examination. Drusilla had gone off to be with Spike and was most likely still with him. Which meant that if she sent for Drusilla then Spike would hear all about her little plan. As much as Darla knew that Spike would enjoy Angel’s torture, this was something that required patience, and Spike had that in very short supply.

Still pondering the younger members of her family, Darla sashayed over to Erik and answered his question, happy for a distraction from the way _his_ eyes had pinned her own and held so much promise. _So sorry, lover, the time for that is long past…_ “Undead and in person,” her voice was laughing but her eyes remained steadfastly cold.

Rapidly becoming accustomed to Darla’s callous mannerisms, Erik simply nodded. Angel certainly hadn’t been what he had expected; he didn’t look like a guy that could be taken down easily. Of course, Erik was starting to get the feeling that size and stature didn’t matter because Darla seemed to know everybody’s inner demons (not counting the normal one) and just how to exploit them. “What next?”

“We wait,” Darla reflected casually, half listening to Erik and half to the conversations going on about the girl in the mall. “Give my boy a chance to prepare, though not too long, he already knows that I’m here and that I’m coming for him.” She continued, starting to walk off, not noticing or caring about the shiver that ran down Erik’s spine, “But for now I think we should go catch a proper meal, yes?”

Trailing after her dubiously, but in too much awe to complain that she was allowing him to tag along with her, Erik nodded, following his stomach’s advice and agreeing readily. “Yeah, a meal sounds good.”

Chancing a rare half-smile, Darla nodded approvingly, “You might actually survive a lifetime,” thus done with her version of a compliment for someone else’s childer, Darla took a step back.

Erik blinked at the unexpected comment and then Darla all but disappeared, his limited senses unable to find her or see where she had gone. It was much like the way she had disappeared on Angel, only he was older and she’d had to confuse him first. Erik sighed, “Fine, just disappear, why don’t you…” Still mumbling as angrily as he dared, in case she was still within earshot, Erik wandered on his own way.

From her spot quite a ways behind and to the side of Erik, Darla paused to wonder what her next step would be. It was time to let Erik off on his own, whether she eventually sent him after Dru or not because the look on _his_ face had convinced her of one thing.

The game was on and it was getting time for the players to meet face to face. _Let the games begin, my darling, I’m ready when you are…_

…*…

“Angel! Oh my god, come look at this,” the shrill squeak echoed through the hotel and reached the upper floors, even though the vampire was in the kitchen and could have heard her.

Hurrying towards the sound of his girlfriend’s voice, Angel found that she had helpfully turned the volume on the television up. “Cordy, what is it? A shoe sale?”

Fixing a rather unhappy glare on Angel because of his comment, Cordelia pointed towards the television and hissed, “Shh…”

From the monitor there was a picture of a female news anchor, obviously upset by the happenings, her voice filtered through. “In a minute we’ll switch to our on-site correspondent, Diane. Preliminary reports are linking this crime to the horrific scene at St. Mary's Convent just a few days previously. However, the police urge people to remain calm and to treat this as an isolated incident. Now to Diane.”

The newswoman was interviewing wide-eyed bystanders at a mall, interspersed with commentary over a video of a pale girl being wheeled into an ambulance. Angel didn't need to look twice to recognize her - he was still washing her blood off his shirt. The story discussed the brutal and seemingly random nature of the attack. It wasn't until the police sketch went up, helpfully juxtaposed with the one from after St. Mary's, that Angel reached for the remote, hastily shutting the television off.

Silence descended in the room. He could feel Cordelia's eyes piercing through him. “Cordy, I need to investigate this,” his voice was at a slightly odd pitch, a hint more accent than usual as he reached for his coat.

The woman in the room however, was having none of this, she stubbornly reached for her coat, stealing Angel's from his loose grip. She could tell something was wrong with her lover, it was blatantly apparent to eyes that knew him so well, Cordelia just couldn’t tell _what_ was wrong. She had a sneaking suspicion that the news stories supposedly featuring him weren't helping. “This isn't just some random demon or psycho-killer, Angel. This is someone targeting you...” she trailed off at his brooding look, "What happened today, Angel?”

The vampire shook himself out of his thoughts, looking from the young woman who was innocent in so many ways still towards the television, as if he could still see the images there, burned into his eyeballs. Slipping on his coat, Angel sighed, “It was other vampires. I tried to help, but I had to go before the police came. I called 911..."

His hand on her arm stopped her from grabbing her purse and her favorite axe. "We have to find out who is doing this to you, Angel. And, no offense, but you shouldn't exactly be leaving the hotel - you look an awful lot like Unwanted #1." His hand didn't release her. Cordelia met his guilt-ridden eyes, “You know who it is.” It was a statement, not a question, still Cordelia waited patiently for an answer.

"Darla." Angel released her, turning away from the questions and betrayal lacing his girlfriend's eyes.

Cordelia swallowed hard, her purse and the axe thumping back down onto the counter. A vision of that drawing and when it was dated flashed through her mind. "Okay. And you've known this exactly how long?"

Angel sighed, "Since the nuns." When Cordelia continued to stare expectantly at him, he added, "Darla's the one that broke in. I just - I can't figure out what she's getting at."

"Aside from putting you on LA's Most Wanted?" Cordelia's arms were crossed defensively over her chest. She'd thought, after last year, that Angel was done hiding things from her. He'd promised.

"That's not," Angel took an unneeded breath, "there's too much risk of exposure. Darla's trying to draw me out, that's all."

Cordelia kept her distance, "And, in the meantime, she's backed you into a corner. I'll call Wes and Gunn, we'll work on a plan."

"No!" Angel's voice was too loud and Cordelia jumped. He winced and tried to sound calm, placating. "I'll deal with it. " She still looked skeptical, "Please, Cordy. She's hurting people to get to me. I'll take care of it."

Cordelia's hand on his arm startled Angel. She rubbed it soothingly, but her eyes were hard when she looked up. "Even if it means killing her?"

Angel averted his gaze, mind full of jasmine and blood and dreams and Angelus railing against him. "I've done it before."


	10. Chapter IX

…*…  


## ...*Chapter IX*...

  
…*…

This time, when she entered the hotel, Angel was waiting for her. She made it halfway down the stairs before Angel's hand was around her throat as he backed her into the nearest wall. Angel's eyes flashed, "What are you doing, Darla?"

"Well, hello lover," Darla managed around the hand on her throat.

The hand tightened. "Enough games. This ends. Now."

Darla brought her knee to his groin in a hard jab, pushing him off of her. "Does it? Here, I thought we were just getting started." She kicked Angel in the stomach before he could recover, sending him flying across the room as she stalked after him.

But Angel's hand came up to block her next hit, and it was Darla who went flying. Angel bit out, "I'm not going to let you hurt anyone else."

Wiping blood from her mouth, Darla simply laughed, an ugly sound to go with her ugly hits as they traded blows. "What are you going to do? Fuck me and leave me again? Set me on fire? You really know how to show a girl a good time."

Angel's eyes softened in guilt, just for a moment, and Darla took the opportunity to drive him back against a wall, forcing him down to his knees. "Hate to break it to you, Angel, but you're not exactly the champion here." She sneered, "My boy couldn't have done it better."

Angel caught her next blow, kicking her legs out from under her and regaining his feet. "I'm not Angelus."

"Oh, I know." They were trading blows again, sending half of the hotel lobby into messy, broken disarray. "I guess that little cheerleader you've been hiding away just wasn't up to the task after all."

Angel drove her back, growling, "Leave Cordelia out of this."

Darla let him pin her again, wiggling suggestively in his punishing grasp. "Why, lover? Does she not know about me? Pity - I'd love to get a taste of that-"

A stake appeared out of nowhere, and Angel pressed it threateningly over Darla's heart. They were both breathing harshly, even though they had no need of the air. Angel met Darla's eyes. "If you try to hurt her, I'll kill you."

But Darla's face crumpled unexpectedly, tears shining in her wide eyes as she looked between Angel and the stake at her chest. “Just do it! I deserve to die, after what I’ve done.”

The stake faltered and lowered slightly. Angel was torn between blind panic - it couldn't be Cordelia, he'd seen her safe to her old apartment just after dusk - and a confusing swirl of emotions. Darla didn't have a soul, but he'd never seen his sire fall apart like this before. "What have you done? Darla - what have you done?"

Darla's eyes pinned his, her hand coming up to stroke his cheek, wistful and sad. “We did terrible, horrific things together, Angel. But what I’ve done is so much worse." She let out a bitter laugh, "I guess I really cornered the market on evil this time.”

The stake had dropped away, forgotten, as Angel shook her once, trying to snap her out of it and get her to tell him what had happened. A horrible gnawing feeling was starting low in his gut, and Angel was suddenly sure that he didn't want to know what she was going to say. “Tell me.”

Darla's head ducked away from his gaze; she was shaking in his arms. “I killed our baby.”

Angel froze. If he'd had breath or a heart, both would have stopped. She couldn't mean - this was a joke, a terrible, cruel joke. He shook her again. "What?"

Darla finally looked back up, meeting Angel's stunned gaze with a viciousness and barely suppressed laughter that couldn't mask the truth of her words or the slight wobble to her voice that she desperately tried to cover. “That’s right Angel, The Powers That Be felt the need for us to bear the world's salvation.” She paused to take in Angel’s stunned and hurt face. “I didn’t.”

Angel dropped her like a cross, taking two steps back. "You're lying," he hissed through clenched teeth, trying to will away the hopeless fog that was engulfing him, "that's impossible."

"No? You knocked me up and left me high and dry, Angel." Darla pulled up the material of her shirt, giving Angel a good view of the ugly scar, still healing, low across her stomach. "So I took matters into my own hands."

 _It's another game._ Angel told himself firmly, but it didn't change the sick, twisted feeling as he stared at the marred surface of Darla's once perfect body. He knew that body, knew the smooth immortal planes as well as he knew his own. And there was the lingering dark feeling of magic tugging at that ugly scar that should have healed. "No."

"Yes." Darla tugged her shirt back down, kicking the stake far away and looming over Angel, where he'd dropped heavily to the couch. Her voice was high and hysterical, even to her own ears. “That’s right, Angel, I killed your only chance at a child. And I’m glad I did it! You’re weak, Angel - this pitiful soul makes you weak. My darling boy wouldn’t want some squalling baby any more than I. And I wasn’t about to help along your delusions of humanity!”

The catch in her voice makes it through the fog. Angel's head rose to meet her eyes, a darkness seeping through the fog. "You didn't have to do that. Darla, it was a miracle. Our miracle."

"Ours?" Darla's voice was cracked and angry, "You set me on fire, Angel!" Her hands traced over her stomach unconsciously, "It was our baby," and then clenched at her sides when she realized, "What did you expect me to do - come running back to you? So I could hand my child to you and that little twit to raise after you tried to kill me again?"

"Darla," he felt trapped, like he wanted to plead with the universe and take back everything he had done from that horrible year, everything he had now, if only... If only... "It wouldn't have - I wouldn't have-" he stumbled over the words, echoing her, "our baby."

Darla met his betrayed and helpless gaze for one long moment. What-if's swirling between them. "It's too late."

The words echoed with finality long after the door slammed behind Darla. Angel sat longer still, boneless against the couch, staring unseeing at the destruction they had wrought to the hotel - his mind consumed by the destruction they had wrought together, a darkness seeping through everything.

He had to find out if it was true. That thought was finally enough motivation to drive Angel from his semi-catatonic state and to his coat. _The Powers would know._ And, as Angel hefted all his favorite weapons, _they were going to tell him._

…*…

Angel returned to the hotel in a mindless haze of agony and rage. It dripped form him like the blood and dirt staining his clothes. It hadn't been easy, but he'd _asked nicely_ until he got his answer. Now the words rolled around in his head on repeat, echoing back and forth and refusing to be absorbed.

Darla had been pregnant. With his child. _His child._ A child slated to balance the scales, a life for the life that couldn’t be restored to Darla. A being of light born out of darkness to save the world.

The Powers' representative had seemed subtly surprised that Darla would have ended the pregnancy. It explained that her feelings for Angel and pregnancy-induced soul should have kept the baby safe until a more permanent protection spell could be completed. Apparently bureaucracy was a bitch, even for the Powers.

 _A soul._ Their child had been human and that soul was supposed to infect Darla by default. Had that been the crack in her voice as she had recounted her deeds? Did she really want him to suffer so much that even a soul could not protect their child?

"Where have you been?" Cordelia's voice rang out the second Angel reentered the Hyperion, "Darla's been here again - getting seriously sick of the mess -" as Angel descended the stairs and Cordelia got a closer look at him, she gasped, "my god, Angel, are you bleeding?"

She was by his side in an instant, helping Angel to the same couch he'd sunk into earlier. Cordelia stripped off his sodden coat and he let her take his gore-covered weapons without protest. Finally, when she brought out the industrial-sized first aid kit and started to unbutton his shirt, concern radiating off her, Angel brought his hand to her wrist and stilled her. "It's not my blood, Cordelia."

Cordelia slowly sat next to him, her hands falling uselessly to her lap. Cordelia watched him for a long moment, biting her lip in an attempt to bite back the questions - Angel looked lost, and like he'd been in one hell of a fight. "Is it - did you kill her?" At his unfocused gaze, she hurried on, "Darla, I mean?"

"No."

And then Angel was up in a blink, pacing across the trashed room with long, vampiric strides that made it difficult for Cordelia to follow his movements. He laughed, low and bitter, and unpleasant echo of Darla's. "Just the Powers deciding to make me their puppet again." He met Cordelia's eyes, and she gasped at the rage simmering there, "They screwed up, and I'm paying the price."

"Angel," Cordelia kept her tone as calm as she was capable of, watching his movements like one would a caged animal, "what happened?"

Angel whipped the coffee table up and out - it hit a side wall and shattered spectacularly. "What happened?" A chair was shoved roughly out of the way, and then he was pacing away again, "Every time I think I've suffered enough. But it's never enough, is it? The scales are never going to balance."

Cordelia tracked him with wide-eyes, fingers inching towards the cell phone and stake in her purse. She'd never admit to feeling unsafe with Angel, but it was better to be safe than dead, especially when he was acting so erratic. "Angel. You're scaring me."

Angel paused for a moment, hurt and hurting; he tried to calm down. And then Angel was squatting in front of her, taking her hands in his and staring up at her with such anguish. "She won, Cordelia."

Cordelia ran her thumbs soothingly across Angel's hands, trying not to panic at how solid his grip was. "Who won?"

"Darla." His grip tightened when he said her name. "She has taken everything good from my life. Again."

His grip was too tight. Painfully too tight. Cordelia tried to tug her hands free, but Angel was looking through her, past her. "You're hurting me."

Her words snapped Angel back to the present for a moment, and he immediately freed her hands. There were dark bruises already encircling her wrists. Everything was falling apart. "I didn’t mean to - I -"

He reached for her hands again, apologetic, but Cordelia's hand whipped out first, slapping him hard across the cheek. Angel let himself fall back to the floor, lost. Cordelia's voice whipped out like her hand, razor sharp and just a touch too high and shaky. "Don't you dare."

They stayed like that for a frozen moment, and then Cordelia was gathering up her purse and standing on shaky legs. "I'm going to go, Angel. I've put up with your crazy ex long enough, and I've kept it secret from our friends, because you asked me and because I love you. But I won't put up with this."

She stepped over him and moved toward the door. Angel was suddenly desperate, in the few parts of him that weren't already consumed by the darkness. He couldn't lose Cordelia too. He had to do something. To explain. "I slept with Darla." She froze by the door, and Angel hurried on, realizing that his blunt words sounded even worse than they were. "Somehow the Powers - she was pregnant, but-"

"Save it, Angel." Cordelia did not turn around as she walked out the door. "And don't follow me."

The door slammed shut like a shot. For the second time today, Angel was left feeling like his world was collapsing. Darla had taken from him one of the only things he ever wanted. Lost him Cordelia - he had no illusions that she would take him back after this when she wouldn't even let him explain. He'd been a father, for brief moments that he hadn't known, and now he wasn't. And he would never get that chance back.

He couldn’t take back everything he'd done - today - in his long life - to Darla. But he could make her understand. It was not enough to simply kill Darla anymore.

He didn't have much time. Cordelia was going to tell Gunn and Wesley and they were all going to debate whether or not he still had his soul. _Did it even matter anymore?_

Angel grabbed his coat, shook it out once, and put it back on. No more waiting. No more brooding. He had to find Darla.

…*…

Darla had not exactly gone to any great lengths to hide herself from Angel. She sent Erik away, off on some fools' mission to find a shaman. No, this was between her and Angel - it always had been. Darla was not a fool - she knew that Angel would want to hurt her, possibly to kill her. But Darla had conquered more than her share of men and death - neither frightened her anymore.

Her boy was properly gone, and she had accepted that. Finally. Angel was a specter of his former self, and Darla did not abide ghosts. She also did not abide the sick, paralyzing weakness that he infected her with. A parasite that she had to snuff out.

So if Angel wanted to kill her, fine. He was welcome to try. It was worth it to see him suffering the way she had suffered. He'd cast her off and cast her out, and Darla had always hated being alone. She made him to keep her company, and then he'd abandoned her. She wanted him to feel nothing but pain.

When Angel appeared at her door, she knew that he believed her. It was etched into the hard lines of his face. "Come to play after all, lover?"

He wa on her in an instant, tossing her back to tumble over the couch, leaping after her and pinning her to the ground, his hand dragging up her shirt to dig into the wound at her stomach. "Is this all it is to you, Darla? A game? Last time we were here, you didn't want games."

Darla gasped hard at the pain, pushing him back ineffectually. "It's not a game - it's this," she flipped him over, straddling him and pressing against his fingers, "it's pain, Angel. Can you feel it?"

She laughed at him even as she started to bleed, the thick borrowed blood coating his fingers. Angel pushed her off of him, leaving them both sprawled out on the floor and covered in her blood. "I feel it." And then he was dragging her up by her hair, tugging her back into him, hands roughly skating over her body until one pushed its way into her jeans. "You like that? You always did get off on pain, Darla."

This time, her gasp was less pained and more of a moan. She threw him back. "You're not him. You'll never be him." She followed her words with blows, letting out the months and years and decades of hatred. "I don't want you anymore."

"Are you sure about that?" He drug her mouth to his, flipping them and pinning her against the floor, desperate to feel something - anything. Desperate to forget.

It was a cold solace in Darla's arms, but she was the one who had done this to him. Who made him into a monster and then stole his happiness away. Some small part of him thought that maybe they could go back - maybe the Powers would give them a second chance. But Angel knew better. He had seen too much, watched too many chances fall away.

But Darla would fall with him. He'd make sure of it. If he couldn't have what he wanted, he could at least have her. His sire. Someone who hurt as much as he did. Someone to feed the rage and pain into.

Darla laughed at him even as they grappled. Slapped him with enough force to make his head spin, even as she helped him out of his filthy clothes. His grip was not light, but Darla reveled in the pain and gave as good as she got. Angel wanted to hurt her, but he wasn't going to win. He was already in the dark and muck with her, staining his precious soul with her blood as he bit and tore at her.

Darla dug her nails into his back and laughed.


	11. Chapter X

…*…  


## ...*Chapter X*...

  
…*…

The moment Cordelia entered the Hyperion, she wished she'd never come. She also wished she'd listened to Wesley, Fred and Gunn when they'd argued over coming with her, instead of claiming that she had to try to work things out with Angel one last time, just to be sure - and she had to do it by herself.

It looked like a tornado had come through the hotel and demolished everything in its path. Clutching her cell in one hand and a stake in the other, Cordelia cautiously made her way through the hotel. Voices and screams echoed from the basement. Telling herself that she had to make sure Angel was all right, and that there wasn't time to wait for the others, Cordelia carefully made her way to the basement.

The sight that greeted her was worse than upstairs. Cordelia tried to bite back the gasp that threatened to escape. Blood was everywhere and in the middle of it all was Darla, chained to the ceiling and laughing insanely. “Look at the little mouse stumbling around in the dark.”

Worried at such a Drusilla-like sentence coming from Darla, who seemed determined to spend every moment regaling him with her tales of their past exploits in explicit, horrifying detail, Angel moved back toward her, still wiping at the bloodstains on his sword. “Trying to bother my poor soul over Dru again? It's not going to work.”

Darla stopped laughing and seemed not only coherent, but also serious. “No, I had my fun with that." She offered him a bloodstained smile and nodded over his shoulder. "Your little bitch is here.”

Angel ran the side of the sword down Darla's face, almost a caress, before pushing it neatly through her stomach. He kept his voice low, "You're not going to distract me so easily, lover." The last word was sarcastic at best.

Darla made an almost yawning groan, then laughed again, spitting out blood. He could fuck her or chain her up and torture her all he liked, but he'd never be Angelus. The soul would always hold him back. Her voice was mocking, her eyes on their audience. "Oh, hurt me again, Angel. You remember just how I like it."

Cordelia was trying to back out when the stair creaked. Angel spun around and found himself face to face with Cordelia, who was standing stock-still, rooted to the spot. Her eyes were wide and horrified, and Angel knew that there was no explanation for this.

Darla's voice cut through the moment, "Oh look. Now it's getting good."

Angel took a step towards the stairs but halted when Cordelia brandished her stake. She was terrified and trying to hide it. "Angelus?"

For one brief moment, he almost wished the answer were yes. But he could hear Angelus raging in his head, just behind the darkness that was swirling like the scent of jasmine and blood, irreparably entwined. There was guilt bubbling up too, but it was quickly swallowed by the oppressive darkness. Nothing mattered anymore.

Darla answered for him. "No. That's your Angel. What's the matter, cheerleader? Don't you recognize him when he's not brooding?"

Once Cordelia looked at Darla, she couldn't tear her eyes away. Darla was acting like this was some kinky vampire dungeon porn, and Angel was acting... evil. She didn't understand. “Angel, what is this?"

Angel shook his head. There were no explanations. There was no taking this back. He'd known that before he'd gone to find Darla. To find someone who could understand the aching void that had suddenly engulfed him with the news of their child. He'd gone to Darla to forget. To bury one or both of them. To make her understand. He'd quickly remembered that Darla always got off on pain. It didn't mean he was about to stop trying to make her feel. To feel something other than the crushing hopelessness. "You should go, Cordy."

The use of her nickname startled Cordelia out of the lingering sense that this must be some sort of nightmare. This wasn't her Angel. She backed slowly up the stairs, not wanting to startle either vampire. Cordelia wasn't going to wait to be asked twice. Just as she disappeared around the door, Cordelia caught Angel's eyes, "I don't even know who you are anymore." And then she was bolting through the hotel, the rough patter of her feet clearly audible to the preternatural hearing of the two creatures in the basement.

Darla laughed and Angel shot her a death glare. “Humans. They'll never really understand, will they? But I do. I know who you are." Angel turned his back on her, regarding the various weaponry spread out in front of him. Darla sighed, rolling her neck with the practiced experience of one used to being chained up. "You should have snapped her neck and got it over with. She'll bring reinforcements next time.”

He was right in front of her again, "Leave Cordelia out of this. She has nothing to do with this." He yanked the sword free.

Darla regarded him carefully. "You're right. She doesn't. So what are you going to do, Angel?"

He met Darla's eyes for a long moment, his hands coming to rest over her chained wrists. "You have no idea what I'm capable of." He unlocked the chains and let Darla drop down to her feet.

He moved quickly, wiping his bloodied hands on a stained towel and packing up his favorite weapons into a spare duffle.

"No," Darla smirked, took stock of her injuries and moved to lean against the wall while he packed. "But I'm looking forward to finding out."

…*…

A hundred years of redemption had gone up in flames. Do not pass go, do not collect Shanshu. Do not get to be a father.

He could not quite bring himself to leave LA, even though his friends had chased them underground. Darla didn't care. She got what she wanted - to destroy him. She enjoyed watching him suffer - the location made no difference to her so long as there was a still a view.

He'd thought, in the beginning, that he could make Darla understand. Or make her pay. Or maybe he'd just wanted an excuse to give up on everything. The last century had not been easy, and the last few years in the City of Angels had torn at Angel's will to fight. To keep on caring so much when nobody else seemed to give a damn. He'd thought having Cordelia in his life would help him, but all it had done was hurt her.

There was a dark sort of comfort in being with Darla - they'd hurt one another for centuries. It was all fucking and blood and penance. Sometimes, when he looked back on his behavior the previous year, he felt he deserved this punishment. Mostly, he felt she did.

It took Angel months to realize that he was only punishing himself. Darla wasn't burdened with a soul, and even when she had been, briefly, there was only so much a soul could do compared to four hundred years of vampirism. It certainly hadn't been enough to protect their child.

Hurting Darla only hurt him. He'd fucked her and beat her until she bled, but in the end it was him staring at his bloodied hands and her battered body in horror, while Darla laughed at him and called him weak. After that, he'd realized the chains made no difference. He was the one suffering under their weight. His rage only pleased her - the woman who had carved his viciousness into a work of art finally become the masterpiece.

It felt right to be back in her arms, in a twisted sort of way - like coming home. His unlife had always revolved around her - his sire, his lover, his obsession. He'd thought he could save her, but he should have realized that the only thing between them was death. They'd created and destroyed life together for centuries, after all - what was one more?

Everything.

Angel was swallowed up in her arms in the darkness when his one-time-friends finally found them. The trail of bodies not nearly discrete enough for those who knew what they were hunting.

Darla laughed as she dodged the crossbow, but her kick was steely against the former-Watcher's wrist. "You should have stuck with watching, you might've learned a thing or two."

Wesley yelped and clutched at his broken wrist, while Gunn and Fred acted as reinforcements. Cordelia beelined for Angel, and no part of her was wavering this time.

If they stayed, his friends would die. Angel knew that he couldn't stand to watch Darla rip their throats out - which is exactly why she would do it. To punish his soul for his failings. He dodged Cordelia's axe and tried to keep his eyes on the rest of the fight. Wesley and Gunn and Fred were holding their own against Darla, but just barely.

He needed to distract all of them. To drive them away, for good. He caught Cordelia around her waist when she lunged after him with a stake and pinned her arms. Cordelia fought to get away, yelling, and the others turned, watching the scene and each other warily. Angel’s grip tightened, "The rest of you stay back, or I snap her neck."

Darla was watching him with interest and a raised eyebrow - apparently content for the moment to let the drama play out. Cordelia elbowed him hard. "Go to hell."

Angel pressed her closer, listening to the familiar sound of her blood pounding as her body writhed against his, admittedly in very different circumstances. He had to do this right. “We're already there. And I have plans for you.”

"In your dreams. You'll never have anything with me again." Cordelia had come prepared. She'd retrieved a dagger from somewhere and managed to stab Angel with it, low in the gut.

Angel growled, vamping, but kept his grip on her. He was the only thing between her and Darla at the moment, and he knew how Darla could get when she was feeling jealous. She'd want to keep Cordelia alive for a while - make him watch. “Ah, ah, don’t you want me anymore, Cordelia? Don’t you love me?”

Gunn tried to discretely reload his crossbow, but Darla yanked it out of his grasp, snapping it over her knee. "Try that again and sweet Cordelia won't be the one you'll need to worry about."

Wesley rushed forward in Gunn's defense, and Darla whipped around to face him, ready to attack. "I said - stay still." Angel growled, dragging their attention back to them. He continued in a stage whisper at Cordelia's neck, "You, on the other hand, can keep squirming - it makes this so much more _enjoyable_.”

Cordelia stopped moving immediately, her voice quiet and on the edge of tears. “You’re not the Angel I knew!”

This was their chance. Darla swept closer to them - she'd always liked to watch him break people. Angel spun Cordelia around and held her tight against his body. He met her eyes and hoped that she could see that he was beyond saving. “Yes I am! I’m the same Angel who gets hard for your warm, lithe, little body…”

Cordelia met his eyes, determined and heart-broken. She had always been terrified of Angelus, but this was the man she had loved, saying these things. Cordelia had never before truly realized how fine the line between Angel and Angelus was. She knew she'd never feel safe with him again. "Stop this. Angel, please."

Angel grinned toothily, “What’s the matter, Cordy, don’t you still get hot for me?”

The crossbow that hit his shoulder was expected, but still hurt. Angel hissed and dropped Cordelia, reaching up to yank out the bolt. Darla shrieked, caught unaware by Wesley's left-handed stake, but managed to twist to the side so that it missed her heart.

Fast running out of weapons, the former Angel Investigations team started to make a reluctant but hurried retreat. For one shining moment, Angel felt hope rise up and flutter against the darkness eating at him. If they were the only ones he could save, that would be something -

"You can't save them all, Angel."

He spun just in time to watch Darla catch a fleeing Cordelia around the waist. He lurched forward, but Gunn shot him again, "You stay back." He turned the crossbow to Darla, "And you, Sucku-bitch -"

But Darla had already sunk her fangs into Cordelia's neck. She swallowed greedy mouthfuls before tossing the girl aside, using her as a shield to make her escape. While the others rushed to their fallen comrade, Angel followed her into the night, just as she knew he would.

…*…

Darla laughed again, as if there was some joke only she was in on. “You just don’t get it, do you, Angel? A hundred and fifty years and you still don't get it -I t doesn’t matter what you do to me.”

Angel slammed her hard against the brick wall again, listening to the satisfying sound of her skull cracking. "Are you sure about that, Darla?"

When she had regained her bearings, Darla's hand came up to run along his cheek, her nail cutting in sinuously. “There’s nothing you can do to me that will make me care. I have done things you couldn’t dream of. I killed our son, to make you understand.”

His hands dug into her shoulders. He wanted to shake her and hit her and abruptly all the anger that had been boiling through him evaporated. Angel slammed his fist into the wall next to Darla's head, slumping against it. Some last piece of him snapped, where he'd thought nothing else could break. He croaked out, "Why?" A plea for absolution.

Darla stroked his neck softly, voice soft and beguiling, "Because I loved Angelus. And you took him away from me. You ran away from me."

"So you decided to break me?" Angel scoffed, the words bitter and weak on his tongue, "I thought you wanted Angelus back."

She pushed him back and Angel went with it, falling back onto the dirty alley ground and meeting Darla's eyes. "Angelus is never coming back."

They were both broken and desperate. Maybe that's all they had ever been, since that night she found him in an alley like this. A night she should have left him for dead. "No," he agreed, listening to the familiar growls of his caged demon, "he's not."

Darla cradled his face in her hands, dragging him to his knees. A perfect echo of the night she'd killed him. “So then, my boy, do you understand pain now?”

"Yes." His hand traced along the exposed swell of her breasts. He forced himself to his feet and crowded her, hand squeezing her breast and lips by her ear. "Are you happy now, Darla? That we're miserable together?"

Darla arched into Angel, her body betraying her under hands that knew it too well, but her eyes searched his face before he turned it away. She could see the pain there, yes. And he should have been right - she should be happy. She'd gotten what she'd wanted - her little plan. His pain all trussed up in a bow for her. His pet human's blood in her mouth and her boy on her knees.

Only it wasn't her boy. It was a monster wearing her darling boy's face. But her Angelus had loved her, and no matter what the soul did to her, she knew she would never be able to kill it. They were stuck here, now, in the dark - together. "Angel, I-"

The sharp press of wood against her chest tore Darla's eyes from Angel's face and to the stake pressed there. She didn't fight him. Their bodies were pressed together. She lifted her head until her forehead met his bent one, until her eyes pinned his. "Going to kill me again, Angel?" Her voice wobbled, but she ignored it. "Third time's the charm."

Angel kissed her quiet. He poured all his anguish and hate and desperation into that kiss. Sloppy and needy and demanding, full of teeth and fangs and tongues and all of the pain they had caused one another. He fumbled with his free hand, and then he was pushing her skirt up and sliding down his zipper. When he sunk into her, it felt like a last damned act. The sweet ecstasy of sin, as her hands and body clutched at him and the stake pressed between them.

Darla hitched her legs around his hips, and Angel drove them both higher, harder, pressing her back into the wall. His face was buried in her neck, and when his fangs slipped into her flesh and hers into his, it was a twisted moment of perfection. The cold power of her, her power over him, consumed him, as her body surrounded him and her blood fed him. When Angel pulled back, they were both fighting for breath they didn't need, tumbling over the edge with rough screams. His voice was ragged and torn. "Goodbye, Darla."

Darla was still staring at him, eyes wide and glassy, as he flipped the stake around and slammed it into his own fractured, dead heart.

"No!"

Darla's cry echoed into the dark as Angel exploded into dust. He covered her, stuck to her, got inside of her. She slid down the wall and stayed there for a long moment, breathing in his scent on her skin. The feel of him under her hands and inside her. The hollow spot in her chest that told her he was really gone. Her darling boy was dead, and he was never coming back.

Finally, Darla got up. She righted her dress and brushed the worst of the dust off her skin, leaving streaky patches where Angel had been. She ran her fingers through her hair before exiting the alleyway, just another monster disappearing into the dark.


	12. Epilogue

## Epilogue:

Yeah, they all nodded in understanding when Angel told of his terrible past. Sure, it was horrible, but he had a soul that meant he was _good_. Of course, they couldn’t bear to think long on the appalling stories he told. Remember how I said that they hadn’t seen anything? That there are some things that can only be classified as evil: _dark_?

Well, I’ll tell you something. I finally understood; my darling boy - the one to match my darkness, my mate - was never coming back. Would I have kept the child if not for that filthy soul? Who knows – or for that matter, cares – I wanted to make the soul suffer, and I did. I wanted him to die, so I didn’t have a constant reminder of what could have been, and he did. I wanted those pathetic little mortals to understand that a pet vampire is a very dangerous thing, and they do.

And when the darkness descends the night after, and the one after that, and the next, and next forever into eternity, what then, you ask? I will go out and seek to cause the world pain because that's all there is. The one constant through my many lives - living is blood and pain. And monsters in the dark.


End file.
